


the unquiet dead, and other fun metaphors

by StainedGlassSpecs



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Drug Use, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Sort Of, Teen Pregnancy, Violence, Zombie Apocalypse, and exploring mental health, more of an excuse for family bonding, under absurd circumstances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-05-18 13:19:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14853516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StainedGlassSpecs/pseuds/StainedGlassSpecs
Summary: When the zombie apocalypse comes to town, it's pretty underwhelming. Clay still thinks its a shame Hannah had to miss it, but even without her, he soon finds that he's got plenty left to lose.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This show is a Mess, but I love these dumb kids.
> 
> *Edited Notes: Please heed all the tags. I want to treat these issues with as much grace and sensitivity as possible but I may not always succeed. Make sure to let me know if that happens.

_“Okay, so.” Hannah tipped another handful of Reece’s Pieces into her mouth. “Let’s talk allies.”_

_“Allies?” Clay repeated, uncomprehending._

_She rolled her eyes at him and swallowed. “You know, teammates? Friends? Fellow crusaders? Who do you want watching your back when the zombies come?”_

_Clay frowned. “I don’t know, I guess I just thought I’d be tucked away in a little bunker somewhere, surviving by myself. What good is the end of the world if you still have to talk to people?”_

_Hannah raised her eyebrow at him, amused and sceptical. “You think you can survive all by yourself? You’re not that badass, Helmet.”_

_“Guess I’ll die happy and introverted, then.”_

_“Ugh, lame.”_

_It was a slow afternoon at the theatre, with burnt sunshine and dust filtering in through the lobby windows. Hannah was perched on the counter, having fully given in to her boredom, whereas Clay was still half-heartedly trying to do some homework with his books spread out. A couple of pages had been torn out of his notebook and covered in amateurish architectural designs for safehouses. Two little stick figures – one with a mess of long hair and the other wearing a large helmet – were placed strategically in the rooms while a horde of stick-zombies with angry eyebrows and sharp teeth lurked outside._

_Unimpressed by Clay’s lack of sportsmanship, Hannah drew a couple of little crosses over stick-Clay’s eyes. “Fine, then. I’ll just go wander the wastelands by myself. Then I’ll find a ragtag team of misfits and we’ll save the world together.”_

_Clay finally gave up on his homework and stood up, stretching. “You have fun with that.”_

_“I’ll name them after you, to honour your memory,” she continued._

_“Oh yeah?”_

_“We’ll be the Helmet Heads. A gang of cyclists instead of motorcyclists.”_

_“Mad Max has nothing on you,” he said, holding out his hand and allowing her to tip some chocolate into it._

_“I know, right?” Hannah lobbed the empty box at the bin, grinning smugly when it went in. “Wow, check out my long-range weaponry skills.”_

_“Impressive.”_

_She hopped off the counter. “Seriously, though. If anyone has a chance of surviving the zombie apocalypse based on pop-cultural savvy alone, it would definitely be us.”_

_Clay started to pack his books away, aware that the evening rush was just around the corner. He carefully tucked their scribbled blueprints into the front of his notebook, hoping that she didn’t think he was lame for keeping them. “Well, you might. I don’t think I’m dystopian protagonist material.”_

_She bumped his shoulder, sending warm tingles all through his body. “That’s why you need allies, dummy.”_

_“Can I just have you?” he asked, looking at her properly for the first time. As soon as he said it, Clay wanted to internally combust from embarrassment. What kind of creepy bullshit was that? Hannah’s eyebrows went up, and her lips parted, but she said nothing. The moment dragged by slowly and awkwardly, like a horror movie, until Clay’s brain finally kicked back into gear and he turned away. “I mean,” he said, fumbling around with the popcorn machine. “You’re the biggest – also only – zombie nerd I know. Pretty sure you’d be the only one worth keeping around in an apocalypse.”_

_“Oh, I see,” she said, sounding amused. At least, he hoped she was amused, and that the slightly bitter undertone in her voice was just his imagination. “So it would have to literally be the end of the world for you to want to spend time with me?”_

_“What? No! That’s so not what I meant!”_

_She grinned and pushed him gently. “Relax, Helmet, I know you can bear my presence on normal, boring days, too.” Before he could respond, a group of people entered the lobby. She sighed at him. “And now it’s time for the real undead horde – teenagers.”_

_“They look hungry, too,” he observed._

_She shot him one more smile before turning around to serve the crowd. Clay tried to bury his vague sense of frustrated regret. It seemed like his life was full of moments where he and Hannah were almost, but not quite, on the same page … and then he’d do or say something stupid, and they both veered off in totally different directions. Next time, he told himself. Next time, he’d stay cool._

_

Clay woke up slowly, regret still sitting heavy in his chest. But it didn’t feel like it was crushing him, not like it would have just a few months ago. He didn’t dream of Hannah that often anymore, but occasionally, old memories would cling to him like dust motes in an empty lobby. This one was probably triggered by that stupid movie they’d all watched the previous night. It was the kind of zombie film Hannah would have delighted in tearing apart, with it’s terrible acting and cheesy effects. Justin had fallen asleep ten minutes in, but Clay and his dad had found the gratuitous gore kind of hilarious. His mom, on the other hand, had found it nauseating and ended up turning it off halfway through, with a pointed reminder to her husband that Family Movie Night meant Movie the _Whole_ Family Could Enjoy, Thank You Very Much.

Clay sighed and dragged himself upright, needing to do something before trying to get back to sleep. Once, he would have turned the light on and read comics for a while or listened to some music. But with Justin still in his room most nights, that would be rude.

He shot a half-hearted glare at the other boy sleeping on his couch, tucked under a pile of blankets and some freshly laundered clothes that Clay hadn’t gotten around to putting away yet. Justin didn’t really need to sleep in here. Here was a perfectly good bed in the room down the hall. Sure, the room itself was still cluttered with boxes and other assorted Jensen shit, but that was only because they hadn’t gotten around to clearing it out and making it officially Justin’s room yet. He didn’t seem all that anxious to do so, either. Justin was a part of the family now, no take-backs, but he still kind of acted like he was couch-surfing.

Resolving to get both their asses into gear _this_ weekend, for real, Clay got up as quietly as he could and made his way downstairs. Maybe he’d have a chance at the leftover pizza before breakfast. It would make him unpopular with both Justin and his dad but, well, whatever.

The house was quiet and familiar. He navigated it easily without turning on any of the lights, keeping an ear out for anyone who might wake up. When he opened the fridge, the harsh white light was an unwelcome assault on his eyes, but he managed to locate the pizza. He then perched himself up on the bench and gnawed on the cold slices contemplatively.

A few months ago, Clay would have dealt with his insomnia by taking off into the night, Hannah’s footsteps on the concrete behind him and her voice whispering in his ear. Even after the memorial service, and he wasn’t seeing her face everywhere, restlessness had compelled Clay to tread the same paths. He kept wondering what she’d think, if she could see the way things had turned out. Would she be disappointed? Relieved? Apathetic?

Clay knew the question didn’t matter. Hannah was dead, and her feelings were irrelevant. He never really stopped thinking about her, but the sad reality of life was that it went on. Maybe that was okay. Maybe _he_ was ok.

Sure, he was fine. Fine.

Clay shook his head and hopped off the bench. _Yeah, right._

_

“Hey, Sheri. Yeah, we’re fine for fifth period. I’ll bring the history stuff.” Clay struggled to pull a pair of jeans on with the phone pressed against his ear. “You wanna take a look at anything else, while we’re at it?”

_“Nah. One thing at a time for me, remember?”_

“Well you’re basically caught up on all the math and English you missed, anyway.”

He heard her shift on the other end of the line, and abruptly wondered if she was getting dressed, like him. Then he shoved that thought right back out again, because he was having enough trouble zipping his pants up one-handed without any other complications. _“You sure you don’t mind doing this, still? Even with finals coming up?”_

“Of course not, it’s no trouble …”

Suddenly, Justin barrelled into the room with a towel wrapped around his waist and grabbed a bottle of shower gel off his table. “Hey, I need to borrow this.”

Clay pulled the phone away to yell, “Oh my God, you have your own goddamn toiletries! And how are you not even _in_ the shower yet? We’re gonna be late!”

Justin just laughed at him on his way back to the bathroom. “I can’t believe you just used the word ‘toiletries’.”

On the phone, Sheri was laughing as well. Clay rolled his eyes. “You see what I have to put up with?”

 _“Poor baby,”_ she said, not entirely sympathetic.

“Whatever. So, anyway, we’re all good for tutoring.”

 _“Just so long as you’re not being a martyr and putting my stupid ass before your own grades_.”

“What? No way. Sheri, you’re not stupid. Five months was a lot of work to miss.”

“ _Well, I appreciate it …”_

Before Clay could reply, Justin came back into the room and held out the bottle. “Can you open this? It’s got some weird cap on it.”

Fighting back a growl of frustration, Clay grabbed it and twisted the cap off. “Here, Jesus, now _hurry up_.”

“Hey, I’m not the one having phone sex with my study partner before school!” Justin said, loud enough for Sheri, their parents downstairs, and probably the next-door neighbours to hear. Clay tried to swing a pillow at his face, but he was already out the door again.

“I am literally gonna kill him,” he told Sheri, glad she couldn’t see how red his face was right now. “Sorry.”

 _“Just make sure to smack him upside the head for me,”_ she said, amused. “ _I’ll see you at school, okay?”_

“Sure. Bye.” Clay put his phone on his pocket and finished getting dressed. Blessedly, the shower had finally been turned on, so Clay headed downstairs. His parents were sitting at the breakfast table, eyeing him suspiciously over a plate full of toast. He help up a hand to pre-empt any pointed questions. “I was _not_ having phone sex. He was just being an ass.”

Lainie inclined her head. “Noted. Good morning to you, too, by the way.”

“I figured that, already,” Matt said around a mouthful of toast. “It’s not like you teenagers even talk on the phone anymore. Isn’t that why they invented the eggplant emoji?”

“ _God_ , dad.” Clay slowly put his head on the table.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. Have some toast.”

Clay munched on his breakfast and tried to ignore his mother’s speculative look. “So. Sheri’s a nice girl,” she eventually said, far too causally.

“ _Mom_.”

“Okay, okay. I just think it’s nice, is all, that you’re spending so much time with her.”

Clay just shook his head silently at her until she gave up and went back to her weekly planner.

As usual, Justin waited until the absolute last minute before he came bounding downstairs, all smiles. He’d let his hair grow back out since coming to live with them permanently, and with his dark curls and bright blue eyes, he looked like he belonged in a wholesome orange juice commercial. An All-American Son, off to play some football and make his family proud. “Morning, guys! Hey, can I have the leftover pizza for breakfast?”

Clay hurriedly shover the last pieces of toast in his hands. “No time. We’re leaving.”

Lainie stood up to hug Justin as he left, which he accepted happily. Clay rolled his eyes, more for the principle of the thing rather than genuine exasperation. Justin’s puppy-eyes and childish demeanour used to piss him off, because he figured it was the same act he put on for girls to make them love and want to protect him. But after several months, Clay had come to accept that Justin basically was a child in a lot of ways, and while he _did_ try to be cute, most of it was genuine.

“You’re such an ass to your parents,” Justin said, once they were (finally) in the car.

“Lucky they have you, then,” Clay grumped.

“You’re lucky to have me, too,” Justin said smugly. “Or else Sheri would have no clue that you’re into her.”

“Yeah, thanks for getting that across this morning. Subtle. Helpful.”

“When has subtlety ever gotten you anywhere in life, Jensen?”

Clay scowled, because Justin was right, and he hated that. But he’d rather die than admit it. “Look, this may come as a shock to you, but I’m not actually that desperate to get laid. Or, like, rush into anything.”

“It wouldn’t be _rushing_ , Jesus. You and Sheri have been friends for, like, centuries.” He looked at Clay with some hesitation, fidgeting with his hands. “I mean, there’s only so long you can use Hannah as a reason not to be happy.”

Clay’s hands tightened on the wheel. The mention of Hannah didn’t hurt like it would have done, a while ago, but he still resented Justin for bringing it up. “Not what I’m doing.”

“Really? So you’re not still hung up on her?”

“ _No_.”

“So you _weren’t_ wandering around the house last night, all mopey and nostalgic?”

“What?” he shot Justin an incredulous look. Great, now _he_ was getting the puppy-eyes, and it was making it hard for him to get angry. “No, that … that’s not … I just couldn’t sleep.”

“Which only happens when you’re thinking about Hannah.”

Clay shook his head. “You don’t know me that well, dude.”

Justin scoffed. “You’re not that complicated.”

“Look, just drop it, okay? I’m not in the mood.”

Justin slouched in his seat, looking sulky. “ _And_ I know you ate the leftover pizza.”

Clay didn’t dignify that with a response.

By the time they arrived at school, both of them were quiet and moody. Justin’s exuberance had completely evaporated, which Clay had expected. At home, he was loud, annoying, and happy. At school, he barely said a word. He stuck close to Clay as they walked up to the entrance, half a step behind, avoiding eye-contact with the other students. Clay didn’t get it. Sure, a lot of the students were still wary of him after the whole juvie thing, and the jocks treated him like dirt, but he could have made more of an effort to reintegrate. Show people he was ‘normal’, like he’d told Clay while guilt-tripping him into going to the Spring Fling. But he didn’t seem to want that anymore.

He thought about saying something to Justin – apologise for his attitude that morning, maybe, even if it was no different than any other morning – but the other boy mumbled a goodbye and took off before he could. Clay sighed to himself. Being a broth- well. Living with another teenage boy was _hard_.

As he made his way to his locker, Clay thought that school looked a little less busy than usual. At least, he managed to walk through the halls without getting hit by a wayward jock elbow, and that was pretty strange by Liberty standards.

A rough clap on the back broke him out of his thoughts, and alerted him to Tony’s presence. “Well, look at you,” he said, falling into step with Clay. “You hit another possum on the way to school, Jensen?”

“That was one time,” he muttered.

“No possum? Raccoon, maybe?”

“Okay, shut up. I’m not _that_ bad of a driver.”

“You’re at least as good as driving as you are at cycling,” he said magnanimously. Clay glared at him. He put his hands up in acquiescence. “Okay, fine. Just a rough morning, then?”

“It’s nothing,” he said, not wanting to disclose his worries about Justin or his lingering thoughts of Hannah. Honestly, he was just glad Tony had started speaking to him again after the whole mess with Tyler. He’d take Tony’s teasing over his silent anger any day. “Hey, is it just me or there a lot of people off sick today?”

Tony looked around the hall. “I think there was a big part over the weekend. Scott’s place, maybe? Anyway, word I that a few people went pretty hard.”

“What, like, drugs?”

“Sure, Clay,” Tony said patiently. “Like drugs.”

“Typical.”

“Well, none of us are angels, are we?” Tony said. “Speaking of which …”

“Okay, _don’t_ start,” Clay interrupted “He had that relapse last month, sure, but he’s been clean since. And he didn’t leave the house all weekend.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “You followed his steps every minute of every day?”

“Dude, he followed _mine_.” This wasn’t an exaggeration. Justin slept in his room, hung out on his bed whenever Clay wasn’t in it, and barely left him alone. It was so constant that Clay had given up on being annoyed about it, and just accepted it as the new normal. Honestly, after the last relapse, he preferred to keep a closer eye on him.

“Yeah, yeah, I know he’s your shadow,” Tony said. “Just be careful, alright? I hear there’s some new stuff around, and it’s nasty.”

“Well, neither of us would know about that. Trust me.”

“I do trust you. Most of the time. Except when you’re behind the wheel or trying to save fucked up white boys.”

“ _I’m_ a fucked up white boy,” Clay pointed out.

“Don’t I know it.” The bell rang, and he gave Clay a significant look before heading off. Clay sighed. He might not be seeing Hannah’s face around every corner anymore, but things never changed; school sucked, teenagers found new ways to kill themselves on the weekends, and Tony Padilla was cryptically judgemental. Such was life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some ableist language in this chapter.
> 
> Thanks to a commenter for reminding me that I had Mr Jensen's name wrong!

The morning rolled by, monotonous as always, except for one small fight that broke out in the hallway between Cyrus’ group and a couple of jocks. This wasn’t a strange occurrence, after the events of the past year. Most of the jocks had kept their heads down after the trial, wallowing in the loss of their championship season, and the amount of bullying and fights went down. That all changed when news of what happened to Tyler got out. No one knew all the details, as Monty quietly dropped out and Tyler himself basically vanished off the face of the earth (even Clay didn’t know exactly which facility his parents had whisked him off to), but the rumours spread like wildfire. With no forthcoming witnesses, testimonies or confessions, and none of the teachers or administrators acknowledging a damn thing, Liberty High had basically turned into an active warzone.

“You shouldn’t pick fights like that right in the hallway, dude,” Clay told Cyrus once the scuffle had broken up, handing him a wad of tissues for his busted lip. Jessica and Zach had taken to keeping first aid kits in their lockers, and he was starting to wonder if he should do the same. “You don’t need to get suspended again.”

“You call _that_ a fight? Those pussies ran off before we even got started!”

“Yeah, only ‘cause half their buddies are off sick, or hungover, or something.”

“Assholes. We coulda taken ‘em all.”

Clay sighed. “I’m just saying …”

Cyrus’ cocky smirk dropped, and he pressed a finger into Clay’s chest. “Sometimes you gotta fight, man. Even if you gonna lose. This place is a lawless wasteland, and we're all just fighting to survive.”

_(“Fine then, I’ll just go wander the wastelands by myself.”_

_“Mad Max has nothing on you.”)_

Clay blinked as the words echoed in his mind. Cyrus cocked his head at him. “Hey man, you ok?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He gave Cyrus some more tissues. “I’ll see you in _Alternative Solutions_.”

He headed off to lunch twenty minutes late, hoping that all the Hannah-related phenomena was just the result of a weird day, and not some kind of returning pattern. He picked his way through the crowded cafeteria, keeping his head down until he made it to his table.

That was another weird thing he had to get used to. Having an actual _table_ , with a group of people that he actually _sat_ with every day.

( _“You mean, having friends?”_ Hallucination-Hannah had said to him once, just before the memorial service and Justin’s release from juvie. _“That’s what a consistent group of people you sit with is usually called. So they tell me.”_

“ _I have friends_ ,” he’d argued. _“Just not, like, all at once.”_

 _“You’re an idiot, Helmet.”_ )

Zach was the first to notice him approach. He held up his arm and called him over, as if he suspected Clay might walk right on by unless he was corralled. In all fairness, Clay had done that out of habit a couple of times. He sat himself down next to Alex, who was scrolling through something on his phone with Jess. Justin sat opposite, right next to Zach. Courtney and Zach were absent today. They were both busy with their studies and college prep lately, but occasionally stopped by to judge them.

“You get held back in fourth?” Zach asked Clay.

“Nah. Just got railroaded by this fight in the hall.”

“A fight? Who was that?” he asked, interested.

“I dunno, Cyrus and a few other guys. I think Jason was involved. Something about a prison joke set Cyrus off.”

Alex turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “He’s just looking for excuses by this point, isn’t he?”

Clay shrugged, opening up his sandwich. “He doesn’t have to look to hard.”

“Fair enough. Just another day at the Rape and Suicide school.” He did a double-take as Jess glared at him. “Sorry.”

Justin, who had already eaten his own packed lunch and was picking food off of Zach’s tray, now zeroed in on Clay’s sandwich. Clay put up with this for all of three seconds before shoving the other half at him. He wasn’t that hungry anyway.

Zach frowned and poked Justin in the ribs. “Dude. I’ve seen how much Mrs Jensen feeds you. With my own two eyes, I have seen this. So how the fuck are you still shaped like a rake?”

Justin made an offended face. “I’m not a rake. Clay, am I a rake?”

Clay shrugged. “I don’t know, you’ve put on a _bit_ of weight.”

“He’s skinny ‘cause he’s got the kind of metabolism girls can only dream of,” Jessica said flatly, not looking up from her phone. Justin’s eyes flicked to her quickly, then darted away. Clay sighed internally, because every time the Jess-Justin drama seemed to be over, he then caught them making moon-eyes at each other, and it never ended well. He'd have to interrogate Justin about it later.

“Metabolism’s whatever. Are you using the shakes I got you?” Zach demanded.

“Those shakes are disgusting,” Alex chimed in.

Zach pointed firmly at him. “Those shakes are _specifically_ good for your gimpy ass, and besides that, I’d appreciate it if you actually committed to a nutrition routine for once.”

“I’d rather stay gimpy and malnourished than drink your fugly shakes on a regular basis, Zach,” Alex said matter-of-factly. “Sorry.”

Zach slumped back in his chair. “Unbelievable. After everything I do for you people, this is the gratitude I get.”

“We love you, Zach,” Jess and Alex intoned monotonously, then shared a grin. Clay wondered if they were in an ‘on’ period of their on-off-again relationship. He honestly found it hard to tell the difference. He supposed that was the beauty of actually getting to be in love with your best friend; they might fight now and then or get pissed off with each other, but they were always a team.

For once, it wasn’t Hannah’s face that crept into his mind, but Sheri’s. He wondered if he would ever be able to achieve that kind of easy dynamic with her. Clay scoffed at himself. Who was he kidding? He was just too damned awkward.

The bell rang, bringing the table banter and Justin’s ongoing mission to eat everything he could get his hands on to an end. Just as Clay thought he had a clear escape route, Justin smirked at him. “Have fun studying.”

Clay hunched his shoulders and walked away while Jess laughed and Zach whistled at him. God, he missed being a loner.

_

When he got to the library, it took him a couple of minutes and minor existential crisis before he realised Sheri was already waiting for him. She was sitting at the back of the room, hunkered down low in her seat with her arms folded across the table. Breathing a sigh of relief, Clay made his way over to her, winding around tables full of stressed-looking students and one group of girls who were all paying more attention to Instagram than their books.

“Hey,” he said, sliding in across from her.

She gave him a tight smile. “Hey.”

“How, uh, how’s your day been?”

She half-shrugged. “It’s another day closer to graduation, I s’pose.”

“Yeah, I feel that.” Perceiving that she’d had a shitty day and wasn’t in the mood for small talk, he laid the books down on the table. “Should we make a start?”

They worked quietly for a while, going through all the history that Sheri had missed while she’d been in juvie. She was determined not to take any summer classes. Part of this plan involved enlisting Clay shortly after Hannah’s trial ended, and he’d been glad for the distraction, as well as a reason to spend time with her that didn’t involve secretly detoxing heroin addicts and infiltrating rape clubs.

Tutoring was familiar for him. It was maybe the one form of social interaction that he was actually good at. It did make him think of Jeff, and how much he fucking missed him, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Mourning Jeff was so different to mourning Hannah. The memories he had of Jeff weren’t mired in what-ifs, could-have-beens, or crushing guilt. They were simple and bittersweet. Clay could live with that.

Sheri was usually pretty sharp, but today, she seemed a little distracted. She couldn’t remember any of the Civil War dates, and kept tapping her pen anxiously against the side of the desk. A couple of times he caught her glaring at the group of girls seated behind him, and every time one of them laughed, she scowled.

Eventually, she tossed the pen down between them and crossed her arms. “This is a waste of time. I’m useless.”

“Not true,” Clay said. “You’re smart.”

Sheri scoffed. “Not at this stuff, I’m not. Numbers, and shit.”

Clay floundered for a moment. “Well you’re smart at lots of other things. Practical things. Like, you think on your feet and you’re good dealing with shitty situations, and you’re … um … savvy’s the wrong word but …”

She stared at him for a long moment, baffled. Then, she cracked a smile. “Are you trying to call me street-smart?”

Clay fiddled with his pen, embarrassed. “Kinda, but Tony told me I was being offensive when I said it to him.”

Sheri shook her head. “I don’t know about offensive, but it sure as shit feels weird to think of myself like that. Last year I was a dumb cheerleader.”

“You were never dumb,” he said quietly.

“I kind of was. Just, super self-absorbed, you know? I didn't have a clue. Now I look back on it, and I don’t even recognise myself.” She glanced at the group of girls again, and Clay recognised the wistful look in her eyes.

“Do you miss your old friends?”

She shrugged. “Kind of. But they wouldn’t get me anymore. I don’t think I could really trust them.”

Clay doodled in the corner of his notebook, wondering what to say. He kind of understood where she was coming from – the lack of trust, and not really knowing herself anymore. Even his closest relationships were fraught with baggage and bad communication. He couldn’t remember the last time he really felt comfortable connecting to someone, or being open with them. Back when Jeff was alive, maybe.

“You know, you could always hang out with our group, if you wanted to,” he said hesitantly. “We’re super annoying and all, but we’ve got each other’s backs.”

Sheri smiled at him, still looking a little wistful. “I appreciate that.”

Clay accepted that he wasn’t getting a ‘yes’ on that front anytime soon. “Or, you know, feel free to break into my bedroom anytime you want.”

“Oh really? What would your parents say?”

He snorted. “They’d be ecstatic. In fact, they’d probably take Justin off to Disneyland for the weekend just so we could hang out.”

She laughed at that, a real laugh that startled a couple of people nearby. “I may take you up on that sometime.”

Clay grinned at her, feeling warmth spread throughout his chest. It reminded him of cinema lobbies and spray-painted murals, but it also felt new and uncharted. He wanted to explore it more. After the events of the past year, both he and Sheri had become loners, but maybe it didn’t have to be that way anymore.

_

With summer break just around the corner, the evenings were long and mild. Even so, there was a slight chill in the air that night as Jessica headed to the field for cheer practice. She didn’t mind that. It motivated her to work harder, and after yet another emotionally draining day at Liberty High, Jess wanted to release some energy.

She started the usual stretches and warm-us, keeping mostly to herself as the other girls talked and gossiped. She still felt a bit like a leper on the team, but that wasn’t any different from anywhere else at school. At least here, they couldn’t say anything to her face. Besides, after months of feeling helpless and loathing her body, if felt good to throw herself into something so physical. Sore muscles were a great distraction from shitty memories and bouts of melancholy. She’d ever started running with Nina on the weekends, and let Zach help her with some weights.

As they started up one of their routines, Jess looked over at Alex, who was watching from the bleachers. He gave her a little wave, the sardonic smile just barely visible on his face. Much as she insisted she didn’t need an audience, it was kind of nice to have him there every night, watching over her. And while she wouldn’t say it out loud, she liked to know where he was as well. That thing with Tyler had scared the shit out of her. It meant none of them were safe – what happened to him could just as easily have happened to Alex, or Justin, or even Clay. There really was nothing that these assholes couldn’t get away with.

The thought sent an extra shot of adrenaline through her system, just as her muscles were starting to lag. Jessica grit her teeth and propelled herself through the next set of steps, harder and faster than the people around her. She finished ahead of time, with a complicate flip that wasn’t part of the routine. The others slowed to an awkward halt, glancing at her. Jess pulled herself upright, her hands on her hips, panting.

Marissa, the new cheer captain, approached Jessica with a too-wide smile. “Wow, that was super impressive! But remember, a successful cheer routine is about being _synchronised_. We all have to remember the steps and timing, okay?”

Jess looked down, suddenly embarrassed. “Yeah. Got it.”

Marissa clapped her hands together. “Okay, then! One more time, girls!”

They finished shortly after, breaking up to gather their stuff. Jess shivered, the air suddenly feeling colder on her sweat-slick skin. She took a swig of her water bottle and pretended not to hear the muttered remarks from the others as they took off.

“Such an attention whore …”

“Only on the team because she’d cry bullying if we said no …”

“Why even bother with the routines? It’s not like we have a team to cheer on anymore.”

Jessica took a deep breath and told herself she didn’t care. She was done with all of that.

A shock of blonde hair caught her attention, and she turned to see someone else loitering by the fence. Jessica blinked, not sure if she was imagining things or not. “Chloe?”

The other girl smiled. “Hi, Jess.”

She walked closer, slightly wary. Chloe had dropped out of Liberty weeks ago. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I just had to sort some things out with the administration. Thought I’d come see the old stomping ground once more. You looked really good out there.”

Jess shrugged bashfully. “Not really. I just kind of fucked up the routine.”

“Routines need to be fucked up sometimes, when they’re getting boring,” Chloe told her wisely.

“Ha. Yeah, maybe.” Jessica looked at Choe. She was wearing a heavy, pale pink coat, despite the mild weather. She wondered if she was starting to show yet. “How are you?’

“Good,” Chloe said, her smile unwavering.

“Are you and Bryce still, you know …”

“Together? Yes, we are. I’m actually living with him at the moment.”

Jess’ eyes widened, and she had to suppress a shudder. “For real?”

“Mm-hmm. I thought it would be strange, but his parents have been so nice. They’ve given me my own room, and just been super supportive.”

Jess knew she probably looked horrified, but she couldn’t even pretend to think that this situation was okay. “What about your parents?”

At this, the fixed smile slipped off Chloe’s face and she glanced down.

“…Oh.”

“No, it’s not that bad. They were upset, but they haven’t cut me off or anything. They just need some time. I mean, what would your parents have said, if it were you?”

“Oh, they would have been homicidal,” Jess said, giving Chloe a pointed look. “But not if they knew how it happened.”

Chloe wrapped her arms around herself and took a step back, not looking Jess in the eye. “I need to go. I told Bryce’s parents I’d be home for dinner.”

Jessica felt bad for asking, but she had to know. “And what about Bryce? How did he react to his girlfriend suddenly being pregnant?”

Chloe froze, her face turned away. “He’s … adjusting. Same as me.”

Part of Jess took vicious satisfaction in the idea that Bryce had finally made a mistake he couldn’t deny, pay off, or run away from. But at the same time, Jess felt a bone-deep horror at how she would feel in Chloe’s shoes, trapped in Bryce Walker’s house, the living, breathing evidence of his dirty secrets. It occurred to Jess that she’d never seen Bryce get angry. She wondered if Chloe had.

“Hey, look,” she said, before Chloe could take off. “If you ever need anything, call me. Okay?”

Jess didn't know what she was offering exactly, but she felt like it needed to be said. Chloe blinked at her for a moment, before pasting another smile back on her face. “Thanks, Jess. That’s super nice of you. Have a good summer!”

She walked away briskly, leaving Jess standing there on the empty field. She had a feeling it would be the last time she saw Chloe for a while.

"Hey," Alex said, approaching her as she trudged off the field. "Am I going crazy, or was that Chloe Rice?"

“Yeah, it was,” Jess said. They started walking back to her car. “She told me she’s living with Bryce now, can you believe that?”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

He shook his head. “That’s some  _Handmaid's Tale_  level of nightmare fuel right there."

"Tell me about it."

Jess was quiet as they made their way to the car, giving non-committal answers to Alex's questions about her encounter with Chlor. Eventually he stopped, leaning back on his cane, and looked at her properly. "Are you ok? She didn't, like, trigger you or anything, did she?"

"What? No. No, I'm fine. I just ... wish there was something I could do to help her."

"You already tried that," he pointed out. "When you testified against Bryce. She made the choice to stick by him."

She frowned. "Well, it's not like she had much choice, with the baby and everything."

"I guess. I mean, you, you'e right. I don't know what I'm talking about. Here, give me a gross, sweaty hug." Jess grinned as he wrapped his arms around her. "Just, don't get caught up in feeling responsible for Chloe, okay? You did what was right for you, and that's enough."

"Yeah, I know that." He kept his arm around her as they resumed their walk to the car, letting her take some of his weight. Alex didn't need her help to move around, but he didn't mind leaning on her now and then, either. Maybe she was selfish, but she liked being able to do that for him. Like exercise, it made her feel more grounded in her own body. "Let's get out of here."

The school was dark and empty by the time they got into the care and drove away. Neither of them noticed that they were being watched.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Clay knew that, as far as Justin was concerned, the Jensens were pretty much a perfect family. Middle-class, well-off, liberal, loving and secure. Clay knew that wasn’t exactly the case (perfect families didn’t exist, and even if they did, the Jensens weren’t one of them), but Justin’s presence in the home had forced him to think more about what, exactly, had led them all to this point.  

When Clay was much younger, his mom used to work long hours, and he got used to not seeing her that much after school. It was just the nature of her job, as his dad had explained to him many times while her dinner lingered in the oven hours after they’d already eaten. She tried to make it up to him on the weekends and by having lots of ‘special Clay time’ whenever she had a day to herself. He loved those few precious hours as much as he resented the long working days where he barely saw her at all.

His dad was the main fixture of the home for those years. He had a lot more flexibility with his work, and more time to cook, clean, and implement a stable home routine that Clay could rely on. The two of them developed a good, easy relationship, but it didn’t involve a lot of talking, which Clay appreciated as he got older and school got harder.

Things changed in middle school. The guidance counsellor took issue with the fact that Clay was frequently bullied, didn’t seem to have any friends, didn’t look people in the eye, and would rather hide in a bathroom stall for hours than attend a class with a teacher who made fun of him at the start of the school year. Then he made the mistake of telling her that his ‘characters’ (the cartoon people he was always drawing in his notebook) told him that school was stupid and people were stupid, so he was better off by himself anyway.

This pretty much turned the Jensen household into Panic Central.

Matt and Lainie blamed themselves, each other, and the school for not noticing anything was wrong sooner. They suddenly wanted to _talk_ to Clay, all the time, every day, and he didn’t know what to tell them. He was just the same as he’d always been, quiet and awkward, but not, like, _insane_. And lots of people would rather die than be at school, right? That wasn’t weird. His drawings talking to him, okay, maybe that was a little bit weird, but they didn’t say anything he wasn’t already thinking.

Words like ‘schizophrenic’ and ‘bipolar’ were thrown around, but what the psychologist finally settled on was a super unsatisfying diagnosis of ‘generalised anxiety disorder, with associated symptoms of mild depression’. Clay was given pills and a therapist.

As much as he hated them, the pills helped. School became a tiny bit easier. Tony Padilla caught him drawing unflattering cartoons of his least favourite teacher, whom Tony also hated, and suddenly Clay had his first real friend since Skye. His therapist stopped seeing him after five sessions, telling his parents that he was basically a normal, intelligent kid with an active imagination, which he used to cope with his feelings of anxiety. Life went on, and by freshman year, Clay didn’t need the pills anymore either.

Unfortunately, his parents didn’t forget that one time their only son became anxious and depressed while they weren’t looking. Lainie cut her hours back at work and started spending more time at home. She wanted to be more involved in his life, and both Clay and his dad found this kind of weird and disruptive, but Matt, at least, tried to make it work. Clay just withdrew from them even more.

He knew they tried. It wasn’t their fault he was weird and difficult, and they really couldn’t have predicted the whole Hannah saga. These days, he tried to talk to them a bit more; it helped when the focus was on Justin rather than him. The three of them, they were okay. Things were never _perfect_ or _easy_ , but they were always okay.

Part of Clay wanted to tell Justin all of this, to explain why he sometimes got annoyed at his parents if nothing else, but he quickly decided there was no point. They weren’t perfect, but they were what Justin needed, so maybe that was all that mattered.

_

“Just so you boys know, I’m going to be home a bit late for a while.”

Justin paused with a forkful of pie in his mouth. Clay frowned at his mom. “For how long?”

“I’m not sure yet. Maybe a few months, just while things with Dennis get started.”

“Oh. Is …” He glanced sideways at Justin. “Is now really the best time?”

Lainie gave him a wry smile. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of choice in the matter. At my old firm, I had seniority, so I could afford to spend more time at home. Starting up something new means putting in the extra hours.”

“So, it’ll just be us guys around for dinner,” Matt said, grinning. “Which makes my life in the kitchen about ten thousand times easier, I might add.”

Lainie made a face at her husband, then turned back to the boys. “So, how do you both feel about that?”

Clay shook his head and went back to his dinner. “Guess it’ll be just like old times.”

Lainie nodded, taking his sarcasm in stride, and looked at Justin. “Justin?”

The other boy looked uncertain for a moment, as if not sure what the expected response was. But when it became apparent that Clay wasn’t going to answer for him and Lainie was going to continue waiting patiently, he swallowed and said, “It’s no problem, Mrs Jensen.”

“Okay, good. Let me know if you have any worries about it. Don’t roll your eyes, Clay, I read that it’s important for kids to know about changes to their routine ahead of time.”

“How am I not supposed to roll my eyes over that?” Clay demanded.

“On a related note,” Matt said, ignoring his son. “Mom and I need to go away this weekend. Your Nanna Rose wants to go over her will again, so we’re going up to Sacramento.”

“Again?”

Matt sighed, long-suffering. “Again.”

“Okay, whatever,” Clay said, exchanging looks with Justin. He shrugged, apparently unaffected by this news.

“It will be the first time you’re both here by yourselves for a couple of nights,” Lainie continued. “So we’ll need to go over some ground rules. No parties, no people staying over, and definitely no alcohol or drugs. Okay?”

“What a shame, I had this whole itinerary planned …”

“ _Clay_.”

“Yes, okay, fine.” After a minute, however, something occurred to him. “Uh, actually, I was thinking maybe we could do up Justin’s room properly this weekend.”

Justin shot him an alarmed look.

Lainie blinked. “Oh, that’s … I mean, does it have to be this weekend? It’s a big job.”

“Zach can help,” Clay said. “He said he would.” In all honestly, he hadn’t asked Zach yet, but knew the answer would be yes. Zach considered Justin’s wellbeing one of his personal projects, alongside Alex. Clay could now feel Justin glaring at the side of his face, and felt a twinge of discomfort, but ploughed right on ahead anyway. “I mean, we’ve been meaning to do it for months now.”

“That’s true,” Lainie acknowledged. “You’ll have to be careful, though, there’s a lot of photos and old things in there. Maybe we could leave later in the afternoon, just to help you get started …”

“Come on, Lainie,” Matt chided her. “Why not let them do it the way they want, without us around to micromanage?”

She held up her hands. “Okay, fair enough. Justin, is that alright with you?”

Justin stopped staring at Clay and dropped his gaze down to his plate. “Sure.”

After the meal was finished, Justin and Clay started cleared the table and started on the dishes. A conspicuous silence fell between them as they went through the usual motions of washing and drying the dishes. Justin was always very precise while handling the plates and glasses, but tonight, he just seemed focused on getting them done as quickly as possible, handing them off for Clay to dry without looking at him.

“What’s wrong?” Clay sighed, just as they were finishing up.

“Nothing.”

“Uh-huh.” He tapped his fingers on the bench. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about the room thing first. I thought you’d want to get it done.”

Justin shrugged. “Whatever. It’s fine. I know you want your own room back.”

“Well it’s not just that, I mean, don’t you want your own space? That’s just yours?” When Justin didn’t answer, he went on. “We could even paint it. You know, some colour that isn’t disgusting.”

“The colour’s fine,” Justin said tonelessly.

“It’s mint-green, which is, the opposite of fine.”

Abruptly, Justin turned to leave. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” He paused in the doorway. “Do you want me to sleep in the other room tonight?”

Clay frowned. “No, it’s fine. Stay in mine until the new one’s done. I mean, so long as you want to.”

“Fine.” He then left, leaving Clay alone in the kitchen, feeling like an asshole.

Frustrated, Clay finished putting the dishes away. He didn’t get why this was such a big deal. Justin _had_ to have his own room. He was seventeen, for Christ’s sake, it was just the normal thing. Besides that, Clay was pretty sure giving him a proper bed in an actual room was the bare minimum for adopting someone. He didn’t know why Justin was being weird about it. But then, Justin was weird about a lot of things that Clay didn’t understand. His dad had told him to expect that; people with Justin’s background didn’t always deal well with change. Sometimes they perceived it as a threat.

Maybe his mom wasn’t being totally ridiculous when she ‘told them about changes to the routine in advance’. Clearly, Clay had fucked up by springing it on him. But hopefully, once he had a few days to get used to the idea, he’d come around.

_

Alex used to hate Personal Training with every fibre of his crippled being. Aside from being painful and exhausting, it was a stark reminder of what a goddamn useless failure he was. And since his progress had started to plateau, it seemed even more pointless than usual. But Zach had stuck with him through all the bad moods and cutting remarks, making him feel guilty for not giving it his all, so he'd persevered.

Rediscovering his sex drive had made things a little easier. No only did it relieve his tension and distract him from the chronic pain and discomfort, but it was also a reminder that he wasn’t _completely_ broken. Ironically, had Zach to thank for that as well.

Usually on Saturday mornings, Zach invited Alex over after P.T. to play video games and eat as many snacks as he wanted. He grumbled almost as much as Alex’ mom over his junk food addiction, but enabled him on the basis that it would, hopefully, increase his motivation during P.T. Alex could have told him that getting to hang out was motivation enough, but then Zach would have stopped bringing the chips. Besides, he didn’t want to admit just how much he’d come to look forward to it.

Midway through the week, it looked like his Saturday plans would be interrupted when he got a message from Zach.

_hey man, cn I pick you up 1 hr early for pt this sat?_

Alex picked the phone up in his good hand to reply. _thats fine. smth come up?_

_Clay wants manual labor for j’s new room. U wanna come too?_

Alex rolled his eyes. _pass._

_K no prob. See you tmmrw :)_

_why not just tell me at school?_

The next reply took an extra couple of seconds to come through. _Wanted to check u were cool w it bf I said yes._

Alex smiled bemusedly at his phone. _Dnt need my permission Z. all good. see you tm_

_:D :D :D_

He shook his head and tossed the phone aside. Zach was such a massive dork. Honestly, getting up an hour earlier on Saturday and then giving up his post-P.T. hang out time was kind of a pain the ass, but Alex was a big boy. He’d survive.

It was getting close to midnight and Alex was about ready to turn his light off when he heard the front door open downstairs. That would be dad home, late again. Knowing exactly what would happen next, Alex scrolled through his phone and waited patiently.

Sure enough, his dad’s heavy boots trudged up the stairs, down the hall, and then he was peering into Alex’ room. “Hey, you still up?”

“Just turning in.” Alex squinted at his dad, taking in his slumped posture and the bags under his eyes. “Bad day at the office?”

His dad nodded wearily, running a hand over his face. “Look, kid, I know you’re not into the drug scene or anything …”

Alex cracked a smile. “Just the prescriptive one. The recreational kind usually requires the ability to run fast.”

His dad fixed Alex with a serious look. “Still. Humour me for a second. If anyone offers you anything called Blacknight, get the hell away from them, okay?”

“Dad, you couldn’t pay me enough to consume a substance that was named after a bad emo band,” Alex said. “But sure, yeah, I’ll just say no.” Alex liked to look up old anti-drug PSAs from the 90s on Youtube. He thought they were hilarious.

“Good.” The man leaned against his doorway, looking hesitant. “You know a boy called Scott Reed?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“He a buddy of yours?”

“Not exactly. But, I mean, he’s not the worst. Why?”

His dad drummed his fingers against the plaster of Alex’s wall. “Well, I don’t breach confidentiality lightly, you know that. But this is serious. He’s been in hospital for the last couple of days after taking Blacknight. So have a few others.”

Alex’ eyes widened. “For real? Is he gonna be alright?”

“Don’t know that far yet, kid.” He walked in and clapped Alex lightly on the shoulder. “So just be careful, alright?”

Alex blinked. “Yes, sir.”

His dad smiled tightly. “Right. Lights off, now, you’ve still got school tomorrow.”

“Okay. Night, dad.”

It took him a while to get to sleep that night. He had no great love for Scott, but the guy wasn’t that bad, as far as jocks went. He wondered who the other people in hospital were. He’d have to talk to his friends about it tomorrow.

With uncertainty and worry swarming through his head, Alex rolled over and slipped his hand down the waistband of his boxers. Maybe one day, he would rediscover different ways of coping with worries and stress, but not tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeeeahh that was a weird place to end the chapter. Sorry about that. But at least it's in-character for Alex? 
> 
> If there's already a drug out there with a name as stupid as Blacknight, I apologise.
> 
> Thanks for the ongoing comments and support :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: explicit (but small) mention of non-con in this chapter.
> 
> Also, the plot finally arrived! So some slight zombie-related gore and violence I suppose.

By the end of the week, the school population had noticeably decreased. It was mostly juniors and seniors, but a few members of the younger classes and even one or two teachers were also conspicuously absent. ‘Blacknight’ became the school’s biggest buzzword, and soon almost everyone had a friend or a friend-of-a-friend with a story about the drug. Some involved hospitalisation. Others were more like a B-grade horror movie.

“Scott’s not doing great,” Zach said, sitting down heavily at their usual lunch table on Friday. “A couple of us went up to see him.”

“How’s he looking?” Jessica asked. “Is he, like, crazy? Marissa was saying her boyfriend and best friend went mental when they tried it.”

Zach shrugged. “I don’t know, they were keeping him medicated. But there was some definite twitching even while he was unconscious. Freaked me out, man.”

“It’s basically just a new kind of meth, though, right?” Ryan said. He was sitting with them today, both to get a break from the relentless study for finals, and to keep all his gossip networks open. Courtney was sitting beside him, having been dragged along, but she had yet to look up from her frantic scribbling. The rest of them knew better than to try and interrupt. “Everyone I talk to says it’s just meth, but with a shitty name and a moral panic attached.”

Alex shook his head. “Maybe it is, but the way people are reacting to it seems way different. My dad’s freaking out. He says the DEA are getting involved now. They’re talking about implementing a curfew.”

“Great,” Ryan muttered. “Well, it’s not like I actually have a social life at the moment.”

Their table fell silent for a few minutes, each of them contemplating how fucked up this whole thing was. Well, Clay assumed that was the case. He himself was more worried about Justin’s ongoing silent treatment, and the way he’d been scratching compulsively at his knuckles for the past hour. Every time he tried to catch his eye, Justin ignored him.

More to get a reaction out of him than anything, Clay turned to Zach and said, “Hey, so, we’re still on for tomorrow, right?”

Zach brightened. “Sure, man. Just so long as we’re not angling for a pink colour scheme. I had to do May’s room like that last year, and the sight of pink still traumatises me.”

Abruptly, Justin pushed his chair away and stood up. “I’m going to the bathroom before class,” he muttered.

“For fifteen minutes?” Alex said sceptically.

He didn’t answer, just kept walking straight out of the cafeteria. A stunned silence was left in his wake. Clay sighed and made to go after him, but to his surprise, Jess was already on her feet. “I’ll go,” she said. After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. He and Jess shared the same, unspoken worries about Justin.

“I’ll bet he knows what’s up with the Blacknight stuff,” Ryan said in a low voice, once Jess was out of earshot.

“Shut up,” Clay snapped.

Another awkward silence befell the table. Then Zach grinned suddenly. “Hey, you know the one bright spot in all of this? It means Mrs Bradley _totally_ lights up on the weekends.”

“Could have guessed that,” Alex said, finally tearing his eyes away from where Jess had just disappeared. “Have you been to one of her classes lately? It’s like trying to take communication tips from an alien emissary.”

Courtney suddenly slammed her pen down. “Oh my God, I hate every single one of you.”

_

It didn’t take long for Jessica to catch up to Justin. He was dragging his feet through the halls without looking where he was going. “Hey,” she said forcefully, as soon as she was level with him.

He blinked at her, looking confused. “Hey?”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Bathroom? Like I said? So what?”

She crossed her arms and glared at him significantly. “You want to spend fifteen minutes sulking in a bathroom by yourself? Is that _really_ the smartest idea?”

“Oh my God, Jess,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not gonna get fucking raped by a broom, or whatever. Those assholes aren’t even here today.”

“Shut up,” she hissed. “It’s not funny.”

He sighed. “Okay, look, I’ll go smoke by the bleachers instead. Happy?”

“Can I come?”

He gave her an odd look. “For the smoke, or just to babysit?”

Jess shrugged, aiming for casual. “Depends on what you’re smoking.”

“Nothing special.”

“Then I guess both.”

Justin rolled his eyes again and resumed walking. “You’re as bad as Jenson, you know that?”

They were lucky to get a quiet spot down by the bleachers, which was hidden from view of any teachers. Jess suspected they had bigger things to worry about at the moment, anyway. He gave her a cigarette and lit it for her, eyeing her carefully. In spite of herself, Jessica felt an old ache in her chest at the sight of his big, blue eyes. His smile was even worse, but she didn’t see much of that these days. Ruthlessly, she pushed those nostalgic flutters away.

They shared an almost-easy silence for a few minutes, staring out at the empty, bleach-dry field. The air was hot and dry, and the sky above them was a hazy blue.

“Is Alex gonna hate me for this?” Justin eventually asked.

“Alex doesn’t own me,” she said. “We’re just hanging out, it’s nothing.”

“Yeah, except you’ve been avoiding me like the plague up until now.”

“We see each other every day!”

“Not like this,” he said quietly. “Just us two.”

Jess looked away, taking a drag of her cigarette. He wasn’t wrong. She’d come after him with solid intentions, but now that they were here, it felt like almost anything was possible. She still had so many fucked up feelings about Justin. Sometimes the sight of his face made her want to kill him, other times it made her want to do something completely idiotic, like take her clothes off and have sex with him. Not that she would follow through on that impulse. Probably.

(Once was bad enough.)

“I was just worried about you,” she hedged. “You’ve looked kinda edgy all week. Is it like, cravings, or something else?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. Just everything.”

“What does everything include?”

“I don’t know,” he repeated, slightly irritated. “What, are you my therapist?”

Sheesh, he was on edge if he was snapping at _her_. Jess’ worry only increased. “How are things with Clay?”

He scowled. “Same as always.”

“Yeah, right. Usually you’re joined at the hip, and now you’re pissed off at him. What gives?”

Justin scuffed his toe into the dirt, looking frustrated. “Nothing, I guess. It’s just my fucked up brain and all, but … it’s sort of feels like he wants everything his own way, and to hell with what I want.”

There was more to it than that, Jess could tell. But it was possible Justin really didn’t know what it was. He wasn’t a deep thinker, especially when it came to his own feelings. It was probably a self-protective thing; she knew a bit about that. “Well, have you talked to him about it? Clay’s kind of stupid, but he’s not a dick. I mean, most of the time. He’d probably be okay with it.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Justin said, not looking at her.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment. “He’s not Bryce,” she said quietly.

He scoffed. “Obviously.”

‘What I _mean_ is, you can be clear with him. He’s not gonna toss you out on the street for it.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He put his cigarette out and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Did you want to have sex?”

Jess reeled back, affronted. “Uh, no? Asshole, of course I don’t.”

“Just checking. Maybe you need to be clearer about what you want, as well.” He wandered back to the main building, leaving her there with her mouth hanging open.

“ _Asshole_ ,” she said again, her hands curling into fists as she stomped off after him.

_

Tony had been looking forward to Friday night all week, because it had sort of, pathetically, become Date Night. Tony had never thought he’d be the type to have a Date Night, but then, he’d never anticipated having Caleb in his life either. Life was full of surprises.

Though, frankly, he could do with fewer of those.

“Where did you say we were going, again?” he prodded, as the two of them walked away from the gym and into town.

Caleb grinned indulgently. “Nice try. I _didn’t_ say where we were going, and yeah, you’re still gonna have to wait and see.”

Tony sighed and permitted Caleb to link their fingers together. He never thought he’d be the Holding Hands in Public kind of guy, either. Even now, he had to stomp down on the instinct to glance around, wary of people staring and judging.

“It’s not that bar down on Glenn Street, is it?”

Caleb shuddered. “Give me some credit, man.”

The last time they’d ventured into that particular establishment, Tony had spent most of the night babysitting a drunk-off-his-ass Ryan, who’d cried on Tony’s shoulder for an hour and then disappeared out the back with some forty-year-old. Tony had cracked a few knuckles that night. Hell, he wasn’t much for the club scene anyway.

“Okay, well, is it gonna be some fancy restaurant that will scare the shit out of me?” he said. “’Cause I didn’t pack my spare tux.”

Caleb threw his head back, laughing exasperatedly. “Please, _please_ give me the chance to be romantic and spontaneous.”

“Okay, okay.” He held his hands up in surrender, one of them still linked with Caleb’s. “I’m shutting up.”

They turned down a smaller street, which connected up to the main drag. Tony held Caleb a little tighter, just out of habit. It wasn’t that he was afraid for their safety, but he really didn’t need a reason to go back to juvie. Besides, he wasn’t gonna let some random homophobe ruin his date all over again.

When he heard a scuffling noise up ahead, Tony thought for a second that his paranoid brain was playing tricks on him. But Caleb frowned as well, apparently sensing trouble. It appeared to be coming from an alleyway just off to the left. As they approached, someone could be heard moaning and grunting. Tony rolled his eyes, expecting to have to ignore a couple of people fucking against a dirty wall, but something about the noise made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. With an apologetic glance at Caleb, he let go and shoved his hands in his pockets.

They drew level with the alley, and neither of them could resist glancing in. At first, it was hard to see anything. Then slowly, as Tony’s eyes adjusted, he saw a figure come stumbling out of the shadows towards them. It was a man, middle-aged, think and lanky. His eyes were vacant and bloodshot.  A thin line of drool hung from his open mouth.

Caleb’s hand found Tony’s shoulder and squeezed. “Let’s keep moving,” he said quietly.

Tony wasn’t about to argue, but his eyes were drawn to the junkie’s arm. It hung uselessly by his side, and was drenched in blood. With an unpleasant jolt in his stomach, Tony realised two of his fingers were missing.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Maybe we should call someone.”

“Uh …” Caleb hesitated, torn between the severely injured man in front of them, and the fact that the man looked like he wanted to eat them for breakfast. “Maybe we should …”

Without a shred of warning, the junkie lunged at them. Tony swore as he and Caleb threw themselves to either side, letting him hit the wall behind them. Quicker than Tony would have expected, he spun around and zeroed in Tony.

“Holy shit,” Caleb said, his fists raised, hesitating over what to do next.

Tony held his hand up. “Don’t worry, I got this.” To the manic dude in front of him, he turned his voice down to a low, soothing pitch. It had worked on Clay more times than he could count, and he’d even talked Tyler Down out of leaping from his car into moving traffic, _twice_ , during a very stressful trip to the hospital. He could handle one little junkie. “Hey man. It’s okay. We’re just passing through.”

The man’s eyes twitched and he tilted his head to the side. Tony wondered if this was the infamous Blacknight he’d heard so much about. For once, it seemed the rumours really didn’t do it justice. “That’s a nasty scratch you got there,” he continued. He slowly reached into his pocket for his phone. “Why don’t I just call triple-zero, and then we’ll …”

The man let out an inhuman growl and charged at him. Tony had no time to move. On sheer instinct, he met the attack head on and used his own weight and momentum to shove him off to the side. _To hell with it_. With the split second of time given to him, he darted forward and punched the guy in the face.

This did not slow him down. He growled and leapt forward again, this time catching Tony around the waist. They both hit the ground with a _thud._ Sheer terror gripped Tony as he stared into the man’s wild eyes, and though he fought back with everything he had, not a single hit seemed to phase him. Rather than hitting back, he snapped his teeth at Tony’s neck. Drool flecked from his snarling lips, and the blood from his mangled hand was slick against Tony’s skin.

Suddenly, the man was hauled off of him, and he sucked in a huge lungful of air. Caleb had the junkie in a firm lock, his arms trembling with effort as he dragged him, spitting and snapping like an animal, away from Tony. “Run!” he grunted.

“Like hell,” Tony said. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied a dustbin lid. Without thinking too hard about it, he darted towards it and snatched it up. Holding it firmly in both hands, he brought it down hard on the junkie’s head with a roar of anger.

The man went limp in Caleb’s arms. He let go, and let him stumble to the ground. He was still conscious, but dazed. They didn’t waste another second. Tony and Caleb grabbed each other, their hands fisting in bloody swaths of cotton and leather, and took off towards the street.

They didn’t stop until they were several blocks away, and people along the street were staring at them. Tony didn’t care. He pulled Caleb into a desperate hug, his heart racing like a rabbit’s Caleb pressed a kiss down on his head and held back just as tightly.

“We … need to call someone,” he gasped. “Police, or something. He could hurt someone else.”

“Yeah, Tony said. “Yeah, in a sec.”

When he felt like he could breathe on his own again, Tony pulled away and fumbled for his phone.

“What the fuck,” Caleb muttered, staring back the way they came. “What the _fuck_ is going on?”

“I don’t know, but I think it’s gonna get worse,” Tony said grimly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra long chapter today, because there's so much to get through! Tensions come to a head in the Jensen household, Alex has a bit of a crisis, and Clay needs to check his phone more often.
> 
> As always, thank you for the lovely people who comment and kudos :)

“Okay, that’s the last of them,” Zach said, dusting his hands off as he entered the room. “No more boxes and the bed is totally dismantled, so now we can start putting some newspaper down … oh my God, is that _another_ album?!”

Justin glanced up guiltily from where he was hunched over a leather-bound album and a packet of chips. “What? It was in the back of the closet.”

Zach sighed. “I swear you just keep pulling them out of your ass.”

“But look, here’s another one where Clay looks like a muppet! And he doesn’t have any teeth!”

When Clay got back upstairs with an armful of tools and paintbrushes from the basement that his dad never used, he was dismayed to find both Zach and Justin sitting on the floor, laughing over a bunch of photos. Then they caught sight of him in the doorway and laughed even harder.

“Oh my God, he hasn’t changed at all!”

“Okay,” Clay said. “Okay.” He plopped the tools down on the floor, and promptly confiscated the photo album and chips. “Can we act like responsible adults for three minutes, please?”

Justin rolled his eyes and tipped his head back, but Zach had the grace to look slightly ashamed. “Sure boss.” He held an arm out to Justin and hauled him off the floor.

After a rocky start, they finally managed to get things underway. They got the room cleared out and vacuumed, then lined the carpet with newspaper and got started on the walls. After much hemming and hawing, Justin had decided on a light orangey-yellow colour. It was a bit _loud_ for Clay’s tastes, but he kept his mouth shut. He had a feeling that any hint of negativity or criticism from him would set this project back another six weeks.

It was strange, how sometimes it felt like he was walking on eggshells with Justin, and other times it felt like they’d grown up in the same house all along.

The day outside was warm and sunny, with a light breeze filtering in through the open window, perfect for painting. They put some music on and made quick work of the walls, with Zach smugly taking care of the highest edges. Then he ‘accidentally’ dripped paint on Clay’s arm and sang the Oompa Loompa song at him, which sent Justin into absolute hysterics … at least until he got a stripe of orange paint up the side of his own neck.

“So, what kind of traumatising images can I expect to see up on these walls once they’re dry?” Clay asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Justin said, but there was a faint smirk on his face.

“Well, fair warning, the feminist lecture you get from mom will depend entirely on the boob-to-clothes ratio.”

“Know that from experience, Jensen?” Zach sniggered.

“No, she gave me the lecture years before I even considered it. It scarred me.”

Justin screwed his face up. “I’m not putting _porn_ on the walls, dude. That shit’s for people who are either too young or too pathetic to know what the real deal’s like.”

Zach swiped at him with his brush again, but he managed to dodge this time. “Right, I forgot we were in the presence of a Wise Sex Sage,” he said. “He’d sooner stick a life-size nude centrefold out of himself on the back of the door.”

“Fuck off, man,” Justin laughed, shoving him. “I thought I was a rake?”

“A sexy rake,” Zach said generously.

They worked in companionable silence for a while. Eventually, Justin said to Clay, “I like some of the pictures on _your_ walls.”

Clay’s eyebrows went up, because Justin had never mentioned them before. He’d assumed Justin thought they were weird or ugly and ignored them out of politeness. “Really?”

“I wanna see,” Zach demanded.

“Whoa, hang on …” Clay said, but both of them were already charging across the hall towards his room. Sighing, he dropped his roller in the paint bucket and followed along. “Don’t get paint on anything!”

“Chill out, we’ll keep our hands to ourselves,” Zach said. He was standing in the centre of Clay’s room, looking around. “You know, I’ve never been in your room before.”

Clay sarcastically spread his hand to the side. “Welcome.”

“Some of these are actually pretty good. Did you do them all?”

Clay shook his head. “If it looks like a cartoon knock-off, it’s mine. If it looks like it was done by a professional tattoo artist, it’s Skye’s handiwork.”

“Nice.” His gaze fell on the back of the door, and the smile wavered on his face slightly. “Is that …?”

Clay’s stomach lurched slightly. “The tapes. Yeah. Uh, Skye did it for me.”

The three of them looked at the picture solemnly for a moment. Before she’d convinced him to get the tattoo, Skye had thought he needed something visual and positive to remember Hannah by. Clay hadn’t been able to draw anything himself (and he had tried, multiple times, but nothing had looked right and he’d thrown them all out), so she’d come up with the design. It was simple, but aesthetically pleasing – cassette tapes stacked together, silhouetted against a plain white background, with a red heart in the centre. Looking at it now, he thought it looked a bit like a shrine. He wondered if Zach would think it was morbid. However, glancing at him sideways, Clay read nothing but acceptance and a little wistfulness in his expression. He turned to Clay with a sad smile.

“It’s nice.”

Clay jerked his head to the side, not really sure what to say. “Yeah, well. It helps to have it there.”

Justin didn’t say anything at all.

Since the painting was pretty much all completed, they headed downstairs for lunch. Matt had prepared a couple of plates full of sandwiches before he left, and there was money for pizza later that night. Clay himself was a passable cook (at least, he could do an omelette, a grilled cheese, or spaghetti under duress) but his parents had correctly anticipated that he wouldn’t be in the mood for it after a day of home renovations. They ate in the kitchen, the music still playing upstairs and the TV on low in the background.

Clay left for a moment to use the bathroom. When he got back, the TV was turned up and both other boys were sitting on the couch, watching it with rapt attention.

“Hey, guys, we could probably put another layer on now,” he said.

“Shhh!” Justin interrupted.

Clay shot him an offended look and opened his mouth. Zach glanced back at him.

“It’s Scott,” he said quietly.

Clay shut up and came around to sit beside Justin.

 _“…among the first casualties from the drug known as ‘Blacknight’_ ,” the reporter was saying. _“So far there have been a total of twelve hospitalisations attributed to the substance, and three known deaths from brain haemorrhaging.”_

“Shit,” Clay said. Zach shook his head and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

_“Not much is yet known about the substance, first thought to be a type of methamphetamine, which has cropped up in various places across California in the past couple of weeks. However, it appears to have an unprecedented, corrosive effect on the brain, causing a variety of symptoms such as heightened aggression, increased pain tolerance, severe seizures, and in some cases, complete neurological shut-down.”_

Clips of footage played across the screen during the report; people twitching and jerking in hospital beds; screaming and lashing out as they were tackled to the ground by police; smacking their heads into the walls and biting at their wrists hard enough to draw blood; lying prone on the ground, their eyes staring blankly upwards.

Clay heard someone make a noise, low in their throat. A second later, he realised it was him.

“Turn it off, man,” Justin muttered. Zach fumbled for the remote, and the news report had switched off. An awful silence was left in its wake.

“Jesus,” Zach said, running a hand over his face. “ _Jesus._ ”

“Did … did they say if anyone else from Liberty had died?” Clay asked quietly.

He shook his head. “No. Not yet, anyway.”

They were quiet for another minute. Clay felt kind of numb, honestly. He and Scott hadn’t been friends. Hell, he had a distinct antipathy towards most of the kids who were laid up by this stuff. But they were all still kids, important to someone. It could have been any one of them. It probably _would_ have been Justin, if he’d still been on the streets.

He wondered if Hannah had looked like those people, when she’d died.

“Do you want to keep going on the room?” Zach asked in a subdued tone of voice.

Clay shook himself, glad for the distraction. “Yeah, we probably should.”

Justin shot him a glare. “Seriously?”

“Well, it’s not gonna paint itself.”

Justin shot to his feet. “What the hell is your problem, Jensen?” he demanded.

Clay felt a spike of anger shoot through him. “What’s my problem? What’s _your_ problem?”

“Maybe I don’t feel like _redecorating_ after seeing that shit on the news!”

Clay scoffed. “Bullshit, man, you’ve been resistant to this all week. Why?” When Justin didn’t answer, his face scrunched up and his hands balled into fists, Clay took a step forward and spread his arms wide. Frustration making him desperate for answers. He was sick of walking on eggshells, damn it. “Why don’t you want your own room, Justin? Do you not want to be part of this family? Do you want to be like those guys on the TV?”

Justin inhaled sharply.

Zach raised his hands cautiously, glancing between them. “Okay, guys why don’t we just chill for a second …”

“I’m not a fucking part of this family!” Justin exploded. “I’m just your fucking charity case!”

“ _What?_ ”

“I’m right, aren’t I? You couldn’t save Hannah, so now you just wanna help every pathetic idiot you come across. It’d be Tyler Fucking Down in that room if you had your way!”

“That … that’s not true!” Clay spluttered. He had no earthly idea what Tyler had to do with this.

“Bullshit!”

“Even if that were the case,” Clay said quickly, deciding to try a different route. “We wouldn’t be adopting Tyler! You think my parents just want to go around adopting everyone?”

Justin just shook his head back and forth, his eyes wild. “It doesn’t matter. You don’t want to actually adopt me. You don’t want to be my brother.”

“That’s not …”

“You’ve never _once_ called me your brother!”

Clay opened his mouth, wanting to dispute it, but the right words just wouldn’t come out. A couple of long seconds dragged by. Justin pointed at him, looking both triumphant and on the verge of tears. “See! Just the word makes you cringe. You don’t want me in your room _or_ in your life.”

“Would you stop talking like a maniac for three seconds and listen to me?” Clay yelled. He took another step forward, but Justin shoved past him and ran for the stairs. “Get back here! Justin!”

“And you know what, Jensen?” Justin demanded, once he was a safe distance away. “You should fix your own fucking problems before trying to fix other people!”

“ _What the hell is that supposed to mean?!_ ”

Rather than answer, Justin took off upstairs. Seconds later, Clay heard his own bedroom door slam shut. A loose window pane in the kitchen rattled from the force of it. Clay glared at the ceiling, his mouth open, trying to make sense of what just happened.

“Wow,” Zach said. “The last ten minutes have been really stressful.”

Clay shook his head, still gaping. “I have no fucking idea what’s going on with him.”

“Welcome to having siblings, dude.”

“What do I do now?”

Zach stood up and patted him on the shoulder. “Just give him some space. Order a pizza. He’ll come out eventually.”

“Yeah, out of _my_ room,” Clay said sulkily, but without any real resentment. Most of his anger had given way to disappointment – in himself, more than anything, which was really fucking great. “Jesus. What was he even talking about? How can I want him as a charity case _and_ want him out of my life? It doesn’t make any sense!”

The other boy hesitated. “Don’t take it to heart. Justin’s … complicated. I think he’s just so used to fucking up, or being fucked over, that he doesn’t know what to do with a good thing.”

Clay exhaled noisily. “Okay. Whatever.”

Zach jerked his thumb back over his shoulder. “Um, I should probably …”

“Yeah. You go home. Thanks for the help. We can take it from here. I mean … when he calms down.”

He clapped Clay on the shoulder. “Call me if you need to.”

“Thanks,” he said again.

“Don’t mention it.” On his way out the door, he turned back. “Oh and, uh, be careful out there.”

Clay blinked. Then he remembered what had set this whole thing off, and felt ashamed for arguing about a stupid room. “Yeah, you too.”

He took off with an awkward smile, leaving Clay in a house full of silence and growing regret.

_

Both of Alex’s parents were at work that Saturday afternoon – his dad at the station and his mom at the hospital – and he was spending a boring afternoon in his room, trying not to worry about them. It was a welcome distraction when Zach texted him, asking if he could come hang out despite cancelling days ago.

“So he returns,” Alex said, opening the door to let him in fifteen minutes later. “To grovel and beg, I hope.”

He held up a bag full of snacks. “Bribes ok?”

“Sold.” He stood by to let him in.

Zach told him what went down at Clay’s house while they booted up the Xbox. “One minute things were fine, and then they were trying to kill each other. I know that’s what having a sibling can be like, but man, was it painful. Like watching a trainwreck.”

“It had to happen sometime, though, right?” Alex said. “Justin’s a minefield, and Clay has the subtlety of a bulldozer.”

Zach laughed. “Yeah, I guess.”

“It just means the honeymoon’s over. They’ll get over it, and go back to being weirdly co-dependent. Just, with a better sense of how fucked up the other is.”

“Maybe.” He was quiet for a long moment, frowning. “Have you heard anything more about the people in hospital?”

Alex shook his head. “Not since yesterday, but Dad’s been run off his feet.”

Zach swallowed. “There was a news report. Scott’s dead.”

Alex paused, then out his controller down. “Jesus. Are you okay?”

“Well yeah. I mean, we weren’t real close, not like you and me are, or nothing.” Alex felt a selfish flare of warmth in his gut at, and had to shove it away. “But we were team mates, you know? Same with most of the others. Maybe they were dicks and they brought it on themselves by taking the stuff in the first place, but …”

“But it still sucks, and isn’t fair,” Alex said softly. “And it’s okay to feel sad about that.”

Zach shot him a half-smile. “Just makes me want to protect the people I got, you know?”

“You do protect them.” Alex thought of his parents, on the frontlines of the clusterfuck this was turning out to be. He felt a familiar pang of self-loathing. “It’s more than I can do, right now.”

“Dude, _no_ ,” Zach put his own controller down and turned to look at Alex. “You’re way braver than me. I’d trust you to watch my back over just about anyone.”

“Not the best choice, Dempsey.”

“I’m being serious!”

“Even though I tried to kill myself?” he challenged. He hated to hear himself wallow in self pity, but it had been a bad day. A bad week. “And failed? How strong is that?”

Zach was quiet for a second, as if choosing his next words carefully. “You were the only one who wanted to face up to all the shit we’d done, even though it was terrifying. You’re not afraid to tell the truth, or call people on their bullshit. You don’t give in to them, or to anything. You just keep going, even though every day hurts. _And_ you nailed Monty in the head with your cane, which was the best thing to happen to me all year. You’re … kind of amazing.” He smiled at Alex like he was looking at the ninth fucking wonder of the world, and Alex didn’t know what to do with it. All he knew was there were goosebumps breaking out across his skin, and he could feel heat rising all over his body. Had Zach’s smile _always_ looked like that? “And you know,” Zach continued, like fuck, couldn’t he shut up already? “I’m so, _so_ fucking glad you failed, man.”

Alex looked away, casting about for words. They weren’t coming. His higher brain functions had totally abandoned him.

Zach didn’t seem to care. He leaned in close and squeezed Alex’ shoulder. Alex froze like a scared rabbit, and only relaxed once he let go and turned back to the screen. “I mean, you’re also the most stubborn asshole I’ve ever met, and it wouldn’t kill you to drink a few protein shakes, but I’ll love you anyway, dude.”

It took a few more moments to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “I don’t think there’s enough shakes in the world to make me less skinny.”

“Well, you’ve probably got more muscle mass than Justin, at the moment,” Zach said, grinning. “And I called him a sexy rake today.”

“What does that make me?” Alex said. “A sexy hoe?”

Zach burst out laughing, loud enough to make Alex jump. “That’s so funny! ‘Cause it’s like … garden equipment …” He broke off, clearing his throat. “Well you know. You made the joke.”

Great, now they were both blushing, and Alex didn’t know what universe he’d fallen into, but he wanted to go back to the one where things made sense. At least, he thought he did.

They played for a while longer, until Zach’s mom called and demanded that he return home immediately. “She’s freaked out by all this drug stuff,” he sighed, helping Alex to his feet so he could walk him to the door.

“I don’t blame her,” Alex said, resisting the urge to hold Zach’s hand for a second longer than necessary. He followed him down the stairs, his eyes lingering on the width of Zach’s shoulders. This was stupid. He’s always admired Zach’s appearance. He was basically everything Alex had ever wanted to be.

(Be with?)

(Fuck. _No_.)

“I’ll see you at school, though, right?”

Alex huffed a laugh. “Yeah, Zach. I’ll be there.”

“Cool. See you.” He then did the worst thing imaginable, and wrapped Alex up in a hug. It wasn’t his usual bear-bro hug. It was earnest and gentle and lasted a good ten-to-fifteen seconds. Alex wanted to implode, but he forced that feeling away, because Scott was dead and who knew what would happen? So he reached up with his good arm and gingerly wrapped his around his shoulders, giving whatever comfort his sharp mess of a body could provide. Zach exhaled and seemed to slump forward just a tiny bit. Enough that Alex could pretend he was supporting his weight for a second. Eventually, he pulled away, gave Alex another one of his stupidly radiant smiles (seriously, had they always done that? Alex didn’t think so) and left.

Alex stared at the front door for a while, his jeans feeling tight and his head buzzing. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

He went back upstairs and jerked off. That didn’t take long, and it didn’t take care of the problem, which was Zach’s smile sticking in his brain like a stubborn piece of gum. He paced back and forth for a few minutes, then stopped, because the physical exertion was not helping with his racing heartbeat. With no other options left, Alex fumbled for his phone and called Jessica.

She picked up after two rings. _“Hey, babe.”_

He took a deep breath. “Hey. You busy?”

_“Nope. What’s up? You want me to come over? I’ll have to sneak past dad.”_

“No, don't, stay at home. I'm fine. I just - just need to tell you something.”

_“What is it?”_

“Okay. So, remember that time at the Spring Fling when you fucked Justin? And then when you told me I was super nice and understanding about it?” His voice came out in a frantic rush. The end of the line became dead silent.

Eventually, Jess said, _“Why. Are you bringing that up. Right now?”_

“Not to be a dick,” he assured her.

_“Too late.”_

“I just need us to keep things in perspective for a second, because I have a confession.”

_“Have you fucked someone?”_

“No.”

 _“Do you_ want _to?”_

“Uh, unclear.”

She took a deep breath. He could tell she was barely holding on to her temper. _“What the fuck, Alex? Who is it?”_

He squeezed his eyes shut. Ever since shooting himself in the head, Alex couldn't seem to keep his thoughts locked up, no matter how bad, damaging or embarrassing they were. If he thought it, he said it. He didn't know if it was a genuine brain damage thing, or just the fact that he was so sick of all the lies and bullshit in the world. Zach seemed to admire that about him, but Alex was pretty sure it was about to cost him the best thing in his life.

_"Alex?"_

Well, there was no turning back now. _You’re not afraid to tell the truth_. Ha. Fuck his whole life. “It’s, uh. It’s Zach. I think I might have a crush on Zach.”

More silence. Then, a surprised, “ _Oh.”_

He collapsed on the bed like a broken marionette. “I’m sorry, Jess. I don’t … I mean, I love _you_. It’s just, I was sitting next to him today, and he did this thing with his face, and I just realised it was an issue. So, I thought you should know about it.”

“ _Huh. Well, that’s … a thing.”_

“Yeah. A thing.”

_“Does this mean you’re …”_

“I’m not gay,” he said, a bit too loudly. “Like I said, I still love you and want to keep having sex with you, that is, if you’re still open to that.”

_“… I was gonna say bi, Alex. I know you’re not gay. Bi is a thing.”_

“I know. I just didn’t think I’d be that, either.” He thought of his dad, and felt an old, terrified twinge in his chest. “I didn’t _want_ to be that.”

_“Yeah. I know.”_

He pressed the heel of his palm to his eye socket until stars burst behind his eyelids. “What am I gonna do, Jess?”

_“I don’t know. I guess you just … like, accept it? And see where it goes?”_

“I hope it goes away,” he muttered.

 _“Yeah, well I kept hoping Justin would go away, and he never really did. Which I’m sure you know, since you just threw it in my face_.”

He winced. “Sorry. I panicked.”

He heard fabric shifting and bedsprings creaking. She was probably lying on her bed, the same as him, looking ten times more beautiful. He really did love her. _“You’re an asshole, but touché, I guess. We’re stuck with each other despite kind of wanting to fuck other people sometimes.”_

Relief flooded his veins. “Thanks, Jess.”

_“Just tell me if you start thinking about him while we’re having sex, because I don’t think I can compete with that. He’s pretty stunning.”_

He scoffed. “Please. Forget competition, you’ve already won and made off with the trophy. You’re incomparable, Jess. Zach having a nice smile and distracting arms doesn’t change that.”

 _“Yeah,_ obviously _, but boys make us crazy sometimes. You might experience some lapses in judgement._ ”

“If I do, you can just feel free to stab me with your shoe.”

_“Duh.”_

She started talking about other things, inane shit like her friends’ Instagram posts and the sad state of the music industry. Alex closed his eyes and let her voice wash over him, some strange, Jess-specific mix of bubbly, acerbic, and comforting. The shadows from outside started to lengthen, stretching across his bed, and Alex listened and breathed and prayed that Jess would always be a part of his fucked up little life.

___

It was evening, and Clay was so done with this. He’d cleared away the painting stuff, ordered pizza that never arrived, and made a lot of noise while cleaning up the kitchen, and yet, Justin hadn’t shown his face in three hours. Clay’s patience had officially run out. He stomped up towards his room, feeling stupidly apprehensive at the sight of his own closed door, and knocked.

“Justin, come on. It’s dinner time.”

Nothing. Not even a shuffle.

“Justin, _please_. I’m sorry I said … whatever I said.” He honestly couldn’t remember the details. “Just come out, and we can talk or, you know, just sit and not say anything. I don’t really care.”

More silence. Clay leaned his forehead against the door and closed his eyes.

“You _are_ a part of this family. Whether you like it or not, we’re stuck with each other. Whether _I_ like it or not, you are my brother, which is evident by how much of a pain in the ass you’re being right now. Okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

This was ridiculous. Clay gave up and opened the door.

The first thing he noticed was that his room was cool and drafty. Then he noticed the open window. _Then_ he realised that Justin was nowhere to be seen.

Swearing to himself, Clay grabbed his phone off the bedside table. He’d left it there to charge throughout the day and had pretty much forgotten about it in amongst the drama. He instantly saw that there were around eight missed calls and a bunch of messages, but they weren’t from Justin – they were from Tony.

With growing dread, Clay looked at the line of texts.

_answer ur phone asshole_

_whats going on w u?_

_whatev you do DON’T GO OUT. got attacked by a drug zombie last night. STAY INSIDE and keep doors locked._

“Uh oh,” a hauntingly familiar voice said. In slow-motion, Clay turned to see Hannah Baker sitting on his bed. “That’s not a good sign.”

He stared at her, taking in her long dark hair and big blue eyes. He hadn’t seen her since the memorial service; hadn’t _wanted_ to. But here she was, looking as warm and alive and judgemental of his life choices as always. She shrugged self-consciously at his continued silence. “What? It’s the end of the world. You think I’d miss something like that?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Clay said emphatically.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: trauma flashbacks, references to prostitution, domestic violence, and sexual abuse.
> 
> PSA I have never bought drugs before in my life, so some of the dialogue in this chapter may sound really dumb.

For the first couple of hours, he just walked. His head was buzzing, his vision was hot and hazy, and everything was kind of itchy. He just needed to escape it all, so he kept moving. It felt good, at first. He was alone and free, just like the old days, and he didn’t need anybody.

Then his anger faded, and it hit him. He was  _alone_.

Justin felt his feet slow down and scuff along the ground. He wasn’t even dressed properly, wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt that was splattered with orange paint. God, he must look like such an idiot. But that was the least of his problems.

He’d fucked up. He’d lost his shit with Clay. He barely remembered what he’d even said – something about the room, and Tyler, and Clay being fucked in the head, because he was, whatever – but it didn’t matter, because that ball of frustration and anxiety was still there inside of him, only now there was a whole lot of shame mixed in, too. So it had been for nothing, and now he’d lost the only thing he could rely on.

_Don’t be stupid_ , some part of him said, sarcastically.  _They didn’t kick you out for shooting up in the bedroom, so they won’t kick you out for throwing a tantrum._

Well, Mr and Mrs Jensen might not kick him out. But Clay would go back to hating him. And that meant that he’d avoid Justin even more. As soon as the other bedroom was complete, Justin would be banished to that side of the house, and Clay would lock himself in his own room, and they would barely see each other. It scared him, because Clay was fundamentally disconnected – from other people, from his family, and from his own fucking self. But Justin needed connection. He craved it more than anything.

Justin realised he was compulsively scratching at his hands again. He clenched them into fists and forced himself to keep walking.

When Justin was alone, he didn’t feel like a real person. He was a half-formed, tangled mess of shakes and itches and exposed nerve endings. It was so easy to attach himself to other people who were stronger than him, like Bryce and Jess, and now Clay, as if they might fill in all his gaps. Being part of a family – a real one – had been the closest Justin had ever come to feeling whole. It was so strange it was almost terrifying. So Justin looked to Clay for cues on how to act, how to think, how to feel. But Clay was an imperfect template; sometimes trying to figure him out was like bashing his head into a brick wall. So here he was, back to what was familiar. Even now, as he made his way downtown, Justin could feel himself taking on little bits and pieces of the environment around him. He was the shadows in the alleyways, the dirty gutters, and the suspicious eyes. He was needful and desperate. He was nothing.

It was well into evening by the time he stopped. He looked around and found himself in an area close to where he’d grown up. The streets were quieter than what he remembered, full of bolted doors and shuttered windows, but there were still people lurking around. Justin folded his bare arms over his body and kept walking until he found a face that he recognised.

A woman approached him, peeling away from the street corner to saunter over. She was about his mom’s age (his real mom), slightly overweight and done up real nice, with makeup, a dress, and a leather jacket. A cigarette dangled purposefully from her fingertips, and there was steel underneath her languid smile.

“Hey there, sweetie. Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

Justin didn’t remember her name, but he’d definitely seen her around; she might have even come by their place, once or twice. His face fell into an easy grin, confident, carefree, and just a little bashful. “Yeah, I’ve been out of town.”

“What brings you down here?” She brought the cigarette to her lips.

“My in-house guy kind of left,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. It wasn’t a lie – Joel Ritcock had been busted for weed in his locker about three weeks ago. Justin had been left with no easy hook-up, and no one to sit at the back of Communications class with. “Can you help me out?”

“You want some ‘Night? I got a little, but it’ll cost you.”

It took Justin a second to realise what she was referring to. Then the news report from earlier that day ran through his mind, and he shuddered. Maybe heroin made him a walking corpse, but he was fairly certain he’d never tried to bite his own arm off while high. “Just after some H.”

Her eyes darted up and down his figure. “You’re not dressed for the weather sweetie. Seem to have left a few things behind.”

_No money_ , Justin translated. Dread crept in around his desperation. “I can pay you back. I’ll be by again tomorrow.”

She shook her head sympathetically. “Sorry sweetie. I’d need a better guarantee than that.”

Justin couldn’t give her one. He kept walking, thinking about payment. He had no money, and nothing to trade. Well. He had one thing. But finding someone to accept it might be difficult. He wasn’t in the city anymore.

He felt eyes on him from a distance away, and conformed to whatever image they saw. Young. Skinny. Desperate. It wasn’t that hard. After a few minutes, someone else approached him.

“You wanna buy? Head for a teenth.”

Justin swallowed compulsively. “Two teenths.”

The guy scoffed “Get real, kid.”

He had neither the goods nor the resolve to bargain. He gave a single, sharp nod. The guy led him sideways into a small, shadowed street. Justin was already drifting away by the time he came to a halt, his mind going into a familiar, dark, quiet place. Hands fell on his shoulders, pushing him down to his knees. He closed his eyes and drifted further away.

_Mrs Jensen put her purse down on the bench, looking tired but grateful as Mr Jensen slid a plate of homemade gnocchi towards her. She dropped a kiss on Justin’s head as she walked around the table. Clay said something sarcastic. His dad slapped him lightly upside the head …_

_Seth’s fist caught Justin behind his ear. Stars burst across his vision, followed by a dull ache. He was taller than Seth, and just two hours ago he’d been king of the school, but right now he was frozen and helpless …_

_He was lounging in the pool house, and not nearly high enough to deal with the look on Bryce’s face – amused, disgusted, and slightly impatient. “My parents are back early, you’ve got to clear out,” he was saying. “But you’d do literally anything to stay right now, wouldn’t you?” When Justin didn’t say reply, unable to move or speak, Bryce’s amusement won out. “Would you suck me off? For real? Christ, you would …”_

_There was a door. He was on one side, Jess and Bryce were on the other. If he listened, there was a faint knock-knock-knock noise as the bed hit the wall, and he couldn’t move, couldn’t do a damn thing …_

_He was seventeen and twelve, and eight, and four, and it didn’t matter, because even when he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands over his ears, there was always banging and yelling and crying. It was the soundtrack to his whole life. Sometimes it was quiet. With nothing to drown it out, it became deafening …_

“That’s enough. This one’s mine.”

“Fuck off, man.”

Justin heard the voices from far away, as though he was underwater. But the noise grew louder, and then the hands disappeared. He sucked in a lungful of air, confused, struggling to come back to the present. But that was Seth’s voice, right? It couldn’t be real. It had to be another memory.

More hands. Rough, familiar, full of intent. They dragged him back to his feet and slammed him against the wall. Seth’s face appeared in his field of vision, snarling and triumphant. “There you are, you fucking little faggot!”

For a split second, Justin froze. It was sheer instinct, carved into every corner of his brain. Then he was slammed a second time, and a tiny bit of higher reasoning kicked in. He planted both his hands in Seth’s chest and shoved him. “Get away from me!”

Seth shook his head, grinning. “Oh no. I’ve been waiting too long for this.”

“What are you doing here?” Justin demanded.

“Not important. What matters is I got my hands on you again, and you’re gonna give me my fucking money. Your bitch of a mother’s skipped town, but I see you weren’t so smart.”

Abruptly, Justin remembered the wad of cash he’d lifted form his mom’s place. He spread his arms wide, for once relishing his threadbare clothes and skeletal frame. “I got nothing for you, Seth.”

The man crowded him against the wall again, his arm cutting him off across the throat. Justin snarled and struggled, but he couldn’t get the leverage to push him off. “Well then, I guess you’ll be sucking every damn cock in this town until you’ve fucking earned it back!”

Justin managed to laugh. “That’s gonna take a while. It was, what, two grand? Maybe you need to get in on this lucrative business operation.”

The arm jabbed at his windpipe, making him choke. Seth leaned in closely, enough for Justin to see red veins popping in his eyeballs. “Alrighty, then,” he said. “Maybe we need to hit up your fancy new family. See if they can’t help you out at all.”

True terror spread through him like a rush of ice. “No,” he said.

“Oh, yeah,” Seth said, nodding frantically. “That’s what we’ll do. You and me, we’re gonna pay your new folks a little visit, and see if we can’t find something worthwhile.”

“They got nothing,” Justin said in a rush. Even as he spoke, his brain shuffled through every item of value he’d seen and catalogued in the house. The TV. The laptops. Clay’s comic books, some of which (apparently) were vintage. An old vase Nanna Rose got them. Lainie’s engagement ring, which she kept in her bedroom and rarely wore. Justin had spent his first few weeks in the home pricing each thing in his head and planning where he’d sell them. He hated himself for it, but it honestly helped him during the worst withdrawals. Having a backup plan, even a fake one, took some of the urgency away. “They ain’t got nothing worth all that cash, it’s not worth it …”

Seth backhanded him across the face. His head snapped to the side, everything going blurry and muffled all over again. “I ain’t stupid, you little shit.”

“I’ll kill you,” Justin told him. He didn’t know how, just yet, but he meant it. If Meth-Seth ever darkened the Jensens’ doorstep, Justin would find a way to kill him.

Seth just laughed at him.

There was someone watching from the street. Justin squinted, his eyes not quite working properly yet. It was person-shaped, short, and curvy. The woman from before, he realised. That mom-shaped dealer with the hard eyes. He wondered if she’d try to intervene. It wouldn’t have to be much, just a tiny distraction, and they he could get away.

“See, you thought you could run, but there ain’t no running from me.” Seth was still blathering on, but Justin was distracted by the woman. She’d started to move towards them, but her gait was all hunched and wonky. As she got closer, her face came into view. It was utterly vacant of all expression, except _hunger_.

Some deeply buried impulse made Justin freeze all over again. Seth didn’t seem to notice. He was firing on all cylinders, yelling and spiting in Justin’s face. He didn’t even see the dealer until she was five feet away and not stopping.

“Keep moving, bitch,” he ordered. When that got no reaction, he took a half-step back from Justin and turned to face her. “Hey! I said back off!”

She bared her teeth wide in a feral grin and broke into a run. Before Seth could react, she threw herself at him and went for his neck, biting down. He let go of Justin with a roar of pain, the two of them stumbling backwards. He grabbed her hair and tried to pry her off, punching her in the head. Justin had seen Seth hit women before. One hit was usually enough to lay them low. But this woman didn’t seem to feel the force, or the pain. She just latched on and growled, her eyes wild in the dim light. Justin hesitated long enough to see her teeth spill blood and Seth’s eyes scrunch shut in agony. Justin didn’t wait any longer. He ran.

He got back to the street, where the meagre lamplight seemed almost comforting. But his feet soon stumbled to a halt.

Chaos had erupted. There were still a few people standing around, disparate and sick-looking, but others were running and shrieking as they took off into the night. A couple of bodies lay across the ground, jerking and shuddering while blood spurted from their torn arteries.

The few left standing turned to stare at him. Justin’s chest hitched with cold, primal fear.

He was scared so often, and over such stupid shit. Things like a substitute teacher at school, or if Lainie was more than half an hour later than usual, or when Clay went for a walk by himself for a couple of hours – these things made his brain think the world was ending. Usually, he knew that was stupid. But right now, Justin knew his instincts were right on the money, because every single person looking at him right now wanted to kill him. He took a step backward, then froze. There was nowhere else to go. He was trapped.

A screech of tires echoed between the buildings. Seconds later, a car skidded haphazardly around the corner, down the street, and jerked to halt in front of him. Justin was too panicked to understand what that meant, until the door was flung open and Clay’s face appeared.

“Get in the fucking car!”

Justin reacted before his brain had even processed what was going on. He wrenched the door open and got inside. Clay was driving off before he managed to close it again.

“What the fuck, what the _actual_ fuck …” Clay was saying, not making any sense as he drove off. Justin gripped the door handle with white knuckles. This stupid Prius was like a second home to him. The smell and feel of it sank into his skin, calming him down just a little.

“Put your seatbelt on,” Clay snapped.

“Just keep driving," Justin said through gritted teeth.

“I _am_ driving, but if you don’t buckle up, I will kill you myself!”

Justin laughed at that, high-pitched and hysterical. Of all the people who’d wanted to kill him tonight, Clay sounded the most angry, and the least likely.

“Are you high right now?”

It was a fair question, but it only made him laugh even harder. “Nope! After all that, I didn’t even get high, can you believe it?”

“Then what the hell is so goddamned … _fuck_!”

The brakes slammed on, and Justin had to catch himself on the dash before he went through the window. He peered out through the windscreen, and saw someone standing before them with red eyes and a bloodied neck. His heart seized. _Seth_.

“He got bit,” he heard himself say breathlessly. “He should be dead.”

“He doesn’t look dead,” Clay said.

With a colossal effort, Justin reached over and gripped the steering wheel. “Just drive.”

“I can’t!”

More people appeared at the edge of the headlights, dead-eyed and ravenous. Justin slapped Clay repeatedly in the shoulder. “They’re not human, okay, they’re animals, they almost ate me, just go!”

“I can’t just run people over, Justin!”

Seth – or the thing that _used_ to be Seth, at any rate – planted his hands on the hood of the Prius and grinned, drool dangling from his lips. Justin couldn’t take it anymore. He threw himself sideways, half landing in Clay’s lap, and slammed his foot on the accelerator.

_“Fuck!”_ Clay screamed.

“Go!” Justin screamed back at him.

The car peeled off. Seth folded against the hood with a dull thud, and fell to the side. Clay yelled, but thank fuck, he kept driving. Justin fell back into his seat, his heart racing.

They drove back through town, dodging around cars that had been left in the middle of the road, speeding past groups of people running by, screaming and yelling. Red and blue police emergency lights flashed in the darkness. Snatches of sound could be heard as they sped by – sirens, shop alarms and shattering glass, punctured by the occasional gunshot.

The chaos faded as they left the main strip, the shops and traffic lights giving way to tree-lined suburbs. Justin kept glancing back through the rear-view, expecting to see undead junkies in their wake, but the streets of their neighbourhood were unnaturally quiet and empty.

After what felt like an eternity, Clay finally pulled into their driveway. He just sat there for a long moment, letting the engine run. Justin realised he wasn’t going to turn the car off by himself, so he leaned back over and put the parking break on, switching the lights and battery off. Clay jumped when everything went dark.

“Let’s go inside,” Justin suggested. Clay nodded, and they both stumbled out of the car. He fumbled for his keys, taking way too long to find the right one. After what felt like eight hundred years, he opened the door, and the two of them darted inside. He slammed the door shut behind them and locked it.

For a minute, they both stood in the entrance and just breathed. Justin took in the smell of the house, familiar and safe. _Home_. He fell back against the door, his panting giving way to another bout of half-hysterical laughter.

Without warning, Clay grabbed him by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the wall. “You asshole!” he spat. “Why did you take off? How could you just _leave_ like that?!”

Justin opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He’d been half-drifting all evening, and this – the hands, the movement, the anger – sent him hurtling right over the edge.

_He was slumped against the wall of his mom’s house, fists raining down above him. His mom stood by, sobbing. He was a child, weak and useless. There was nothing he could do._

_Bryce grinned at him, indulgent, like he’d just discovered a drowning starfish on the beach. “You’d do literally anything, wouldn’t you?” When Justin didn’t answer, he stalked forward and put his hand on the back of Justin’s neck, almost fatherly in its affection. “How about you get down on your knees? Prove how much you want to stay, and I might let you stay.”_

_He was seventeen, and twelve, and eight, and four. He was weak, helpless, disgusting. He was needful and desperate. He was nothing._

_Nothing at all._

_

Clay didn’t know what happened, but one minute Justin was spread back against the door, and the next, he was sliding down to the ground. Abruptly, Clay’s fury gave way to confusion.

“Justin?”

There was no response. His eyes were open, but he didn’t seem to register Clay’s movements as he crouched down in front of him. He just stared into the distance, his body trembling faintly.

“Oh, he is not in a good way,” Hannah said. She was leaning against the wall beside them, her face creased in concern. “The lights are on, but no one’s home. And other assorted clichés.”

“You’re not helping,” Clay snapped at her.

“I think he’s dissociating,” Hannah said, watching Justin in his half-catatonic state. “It’s a severe trauma symptom.”

“I know what dissociation is.” This was true. He’d looked it up on the internet. Trying to ignore Hannah’s presence in the house, because he could only deal with one mental breakdown at a time, Clay reached out and gripped Justin’s arms. His skin was freezing. “Justin. Hey. Can you hear me?”

Still no response. He may as well not have been there at all, just like before, when Clay thought he was sulking in his bedroom. Remembering the events of the afternoon, Clay felt angry all over again. It was all well and good for him to check out  _now_ , after Clay had spent the evening in a state of total panic, wondering if he was still alive, if he'd skipped town, what the hell Clay was gonna tell his parents ...

“I don’t think _you’re_ helping,” Hannah said accusingly. “How would you feel if your brother slammed you against the wall like that? After he almost got eaten, too."

“Okay. Okay, fine,” he said. Unable to get a reaction out of Justin, he tried dragging him away from the door. Whatever else was happening, there were insane junkies out there, somewhere, and Clay wanted to put as much distance between them as possible. Surprisingly, Justin allowed himself to be manhandled. He passively followed Clay into the lounge room and sat down on the couch beside him. But it was like he was sleepwalking, going through the motions without any kind of awareness. Clay hovered around him, at a loss on what to do next.

Hannah followed the boys, her arms folded under her chest. “Remember that article about brain functions?” she asked Clay. “I think you should try engaging his lower brain.”

“How?” he asked grudgingly.

“I don’t know, just stay with him. Talk to him. Keep him warm.” She sat down on the floor in front of the television. “It might bring him out of that blank state.”

How was he supposed to do that when he was barely holding on to sanity, himself? Clay stared at her tiredly. “Why are you here, Hannah? I thought you’d moved on.”

She shrugged. “Maybe I came back because you needed me.”

“I don’t. I’m fine.”

“Clay, there are _literal_ zombies out there. Remember we talked about this?”

“Yeah,” he said reluctantly. “But we never thought that would actually happen.”

“When does anything in our lives ever go the way we expect?”

He sighed. “I don’t know if I can deal with this."

"This?"

"This whole thing, and Justin, and now _you_.”

Hannah shrugged, smiling sadly. “I'm sorry, Clay. But I think you're just gonna have to.”

“Great.” Hesitantly, he wrapped an arm around Justin’s shoulders and avoided Hannah’s eyes. “It’s good to see you again,” he told her quietly.

“Yeah. You, too.”

Minutes passed in silence. Justin didn’t say a word. However, after a while, he turned sideways, curling into Clay’s side.

“Justin,” Clay asked. A tiny jerk of the head told Clay that he could hear him, at least. But Clay didn't know what to say. He didn't have the magic words that would fix this. He couldn't take back what he'd done, or for that matter, take back  _any_ of what Justin had gone through. There was a whole lot of history behind him, and Clay had barely started to scratch the surface. He wished his parents were here right now, but they weren't. It was just him, a damaged boy, and a dead girl. He looked helplessly at Hannah, but she just blinked at him, patiently waiting for him to figure it out. Well. It would have to be enough. "It's okay," he heard himself say quietly. “Look at me, okay? I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. Neither are you.”

Justin peered at him, not saying anything. Clay repeated the words a few times, feeling stupid, but too scared to stop. Hannah watched from a distance, silent and solemn. After what seemed like an eternity, Justin squeezed his eyes shut and pushed his face into Clay’s shoulder. A sob escaped him.

“It’s okay,” Clay murmured, holding on tightly. “Everything will be okay.”

He wished he could believe it.


	7. Chapter 7

They stayed on the couch all night. Justin fell into an exhausted sleep pretty quickly, while Clay dozed off in fits and spurts. His dreams were ill-defined and unsettling, startling him awake every twenty minutes or so. He kept expecting to hear screaming in the streets, or banging on the door, but it remained deathly quiet. Eventually, well into the early hours of the morning, he fell asleep for real.

A loud clatter woke him up the next time. He leapt off the couch in a panic, his heart racing.

“Sorry!” Justin’s voice called from the kitchen. “I just dropped the frypan! Everything’s fine!”

Clay slumped back down on the sofa, groaning. Late morning sun was drifting through the blinds. Part of him wondered if the events from last night had just been a terrible dream.

“You could pack for a holiday with all those bags under your eyes,” he heard another voice say.

With resigned dread, Clay glanced sideways at Hannah, who was sitting beside him. “Great. So you’re still here.”

“Looks like it.”

He let his head thump backwards. “Why, again?”

“Clay, we’ve been over this. Zombies, the apocalypse, etcetera." She shrugged. "Maybe I’m just another kind of zombie?”

“That’s not funny. And this is not the apocalypse,” he grumbled, standing up and walking over to the window. Peering out cautiously, he looked for any sign of death or apocalyptic chaos. But the street was quiet and sunny, just a regular Sunday morning. “This is a drug scare. It will get cleared up a few days, the government will blame terrorists, everyone else will blame the government, and then people will move on like it never happened.”

“Yeah, maybe. Or maybe things will get worse, first.” Hannah said. She looked at him with wide eyes. “Just be careful, alright? Maybe think about a plan.”

“A plan for what?”

“Uh, survival?”

“ _Cla-ay?”_ Justin called out again. Clay sighed and walked around Hannah to get to the kitchen.

What he found was a new kind of chaos. The cupboards had been turned out and the benches were littered with just about every appliance, tool, and piece of crockery that they owned. There was a pot full of … something … bubbling away on the stove. Justin had his head in the fridge. “I thought we had eggs,” he said. “Where are the eggs?”

“We used them all yesterday,” Clay said dully.

“Damn it.” Justin straightened up to look at him, holding butter in one hand and milk in the other. Clay noted with some alarm that he had a black eye and a swollen lip, which must have gotten worse during the night. His expression, however, was suspicious. “Were you talking to someone?”

“Uh, no.”

“I heard you talking,” he accused.

“I was muttering to myself about the sad state of the world, okay?” Clay snapped. “What are _you_ doing? Since when do you cook?”

“I’m making eggs.”

“You know how to make eggs?

“How hard can it be? Your dad makes it look super easy.”

Clay shook his head and walked over to confiscate the dairy products. After everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, Justin wanted to argue about breakfast. It was just too surreal. “Even dad doesn’t try to cook with a concussion. Dude, your face is a mess.” He tried to get a better look, but Justin made a face and squirmed away.

“It’s fine. Seth just got a couple of whacks in before the other junkie tried to eat him. I don’t have a concussion.”

Clay closed his eyes, struggling to absorb everything in that sentence. “How do you know?”

“I know what a concussion feels like,” Justin scoffed.

“Are you sure? Because you were pretty out of it last night,” Clay continued. Justin went red and looked away, all his good-natured energy taking a sudden nosedive. Clay hesitated. Part of him didn’t want to talk about it at all, just chalk it up to a weird, terrible night and move on. But he had the nasty suspicion that it was his fault, and it may have even been a long time coming. Which meant that it could happen again, and Clay really didn't want that. “I mean … you weren’t talking or listening to me at all. It kind of freaked me out.”

Justin fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “That wasn’t ‘cause I got hit.”

“Was it because I yelled at you?” Clay asked. “Or because I tried to force you to keep going with the room? Because I’m sorry, okay. I didn’t mean to be an asshole about it.”

Justin barked a laugh. “Jesus, shut up. It’s not your fault. All you did was come and save my ass, _again_. I shouldn’t have run off, and I shouldn’t have freaked out about the room. It was stupid. _I’m_ stupid. I just … I just couldn’t …” He made a noise of frustration and clenched his hands into fists. “It’s hard to explain.”

“It’s okay,” Clay began hesitantly, not wanting to see another meltdown.

“No, it’s not okay!” He sighed harshly, looking like he was fighting a battle with himself. Clay bit his tongue and waited. “Look, it’s like this. I … I don’t want to be alone.”

“Oh.” Clay blinked, taken aback by the frank statement. “Uh, okay.”

Justin rolled his eyes. “What I _mean_ is, like, I don’t think I _should_ be alone. I can’t trust myself, you know? One day I’ll be normal, and have normal things like my own fucking room, but right now? I’d just sit there and want to, like, shoot up, or jump out the window. I can't do it. I know it’s pathetic, but it’s the fucking truth, man.” He was curled in on himself, his face twisted in disgust and self-loathing, but he still managed to look Clay in the eye. There was something very raw and open in his expression. Clay didn't know what to say. However, Justin wasn’t finished. “And you know,” he rushed to continue, “I don’t think you should be alone, either.”

“What does _that_ mean?”

“Just that, you know, you’re a little bit fucked up too. Not as much as me, not even in the same way as me, but …” He looked down again, fiddling with his hands. “I guess I worry about you sometimes.”

Clay made a face. “Me? I’m fine, Justin.”

Justin didn’t say anything, but he gave Clay a sceptical look.

“What? I am!”

“You nearly shot yourself in the head,” Justin said bluntly. “For one thing.”

It took him a minute to remember what the fuck Justin was talking about. “What, that? So? That was months ago. The trial and everything, it was just … a weird, stressful time, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. But look what’s happening! You don’t think this could get a little stressful?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Clay saw Hannah standing by the window, framed by the light from outside. He forced himself not to look at her directly. “It’s not the same thing, okay? I promise you, I’m _fine_.”

Justin scoffed. “Don’t promise me that, dude. Just, promise that you’ll tell me if you’re gonna do something stupid again. Okay?”

“Okay, yes, fine,” he said, eager to move on from this uncomfortable topic. Why were they talking about him, anyway? Justin was the one with the real problems. Still. If there was ever a time for Justin to not work on his dependency issues, this would be it. Clay wouldn’t admit it, but having a locked door between them for hours yesterday had been pretty stressful, and that was before he’d realised Justin had run away and nearly gotten himself killed. “But look, I need _you_ to promise that you won’t run off like that again. If you’re pissed off with me, fine, yell at me, or fight me, whatever. But don’t _leave_. Okay?”

"I won't," he said immediately. "I'm not  _that_ stupid."

Clay exhaled in relief and started to re-evaluate the kitchen situation. After all that, he was both desperate for a distraction, and genuinely starving. “Alright, so. We don’t have any eggs, but do you want a grilled cheese with bacon?”

“With spaghetti on the side?” Justin said hopefully.

“What?”

“That’s what’s in the pot.”

“Uh, I’m good.” He was ninety-percent certain it didn’t qualify as spaghetti anymore.

Justin let Clay take over the making of their breakfast without much protest. He sat up on the bench with Clay’s phone and scrolled through every news and social media platform he could find, looking for more information on what, exactly, they were dealing with.

“Okay, so, the official stance is that it’s a serious drug problem that’s blown up, and they’re getting it under control. But, like, everyone is freaking the fuck out. They’ve all got relatives missing, or they saw someone getting torn to pieces …” he frowned. “Some people think it’s contagious. Is that possible?”

Clay shook his head helplessly. “I don’t know, man. I don’t see _how_ , unless the afflicted ones are somehow forcing their victims to snort meth.”

“You can shoot up with meth,” Justin said, chewing his thumbnail. “Maybe if one junkie’s got it in their blood, and like, they bled all over someone else’s open wound, that would do it?”

Clay shuddered. “I’m pretty sure they’re paying someone else to figure it all out. Hopefully they do it quick. Besides, I wouldn’t trust everything you read about it.”

"Well something happened to Seth," he muttered. "He changed. I saw it."

Clay shook his head helplessly. "I don't know."

Justin kept scrolling for a bit. Suddenly, his eyes widened. “Uh, Clay?”

“What?”

Wordlessly, he held the phone out to him. An emergency post from the local police Facebook page had been shared, saying that all roads in and out of the city had been totally closed. No one could get in or out.

“What the fuck?” Clay demanded. “Have we just been quarantined?”

Justin leaped off the bench and went into the lounge room to turn the TV on. Clay followed, his dread building. It didn’t take long to find a local news station.

“ _We are urging people not to panic,”_ Alex’s dad was on TV, giving what looked like an impromptu press conference. He was surrounded by other cops and some important-looking people in suits. He looked dead on his feet. _“Until the situation has been contained, it’s important that we isolate the threat as much as possible. We encourage people to stay inside, keep a low profile, and let the authorities handle things.”_

He was instantly bombarded by questions. One of the people in suits stepped forward to talk about the symptoms. _“What we’re seeing most of is heightened aggression and pain tolerance combined with extremely low cognitive function. They seem to attack without provocation, although early observation would indicate hunger, or possibly territorial disputes. Loud noises and movement seem to be triggers. We urge people to take extreme caution and not engage under any circumstances. If you or someone close to you is showing symptoms, please seek immediate isolation and call emergency services.”_

The sheriff stepped back in to say, “ _We estimate between one and two hundred people in the area are currently afflicted, not including those receiving medical treatment. Once we’ve rounded everyone up and gotten them the help they need, things will return to normal.”_

He was asked for a time frame. _“At this stage, we’re looking at about three days. More resources will be arriving today, which may shorten that timeline.”_

The questions continued. Clay and Justin watched with increasing horror.

Were the symptoms somehow transferable? _No firm evidence either way yet_.

Were they curable? _Unknown at this stage._

What happens if you’re attacked? _First step is to run. Second step is to defend yourself at all costs._

On that solemn note, the press conference ended, and the station switched to some international coverage of the incident. Justin, who was sitting in his favourite TV-watching spot on the floor, slumped back against the couch. “Well, we’re fucked,” he said matter-of factly.

“He’s not wrong,” Hannah muttered from the other end of the couch.

“Should we call the others?” Justin asked, turning back to look at Clay. “Make sure everyone’s still alive?”

“Yeah,” Clay said numbly, staring at his phone and trying to remember what his password was. He changed it every couple of days to try and stop Justin from getting into it, but it never worked. Now, it seemed his brain had discarded the most recent number in favour of dealing with all this apocalyptic bullshit. Suddenly, it started ringing. He jumped.

“It’s Mom,” he told Justin. “Can you start checking on people?”

“Where’s my phone?”

“Uh, you had it in the spare room yesterday,” he said distractedly. He took a deep breath before accepting the call. “Hi, Mom.”

“ _Oh, thank God,”_ was the first thing she said, a split second of agonising relief. When she continued, it was in her forcibly calm lawyer voice. “ _Clay, are you okay? What about Justin, are you both safe?”_

“We’re fine. We’re at home.”

“ _Okay, good. Now – Matt, hush for a second, they’re okay – what is going on down there?”_

“Uh, I’m not exactly sure. Things are apparently really crazy in town but we haven’t seen anything.”

_“Nothing at all?”_

“Nope.” He exchanged a glance with Justin, who’d appeared in the doorway with guilty eyes. “But we just saw the news. Looks like you guys will be staying with Nanna Rose for a few more days.”

“ _This is ridiculous!”_ she exploded. _“Your father and I are heading back this instant, and if they don’t let us in, they will have one fine lawsuit on their hands!”_

“Mom, you can’t lawyer away a zombie outbreak.”

“ _Please don’t be facetious with me right now, Clay.”_

He sighed. “Mom, we’ll be fine. Alex’ dad said they’d get it cleared up within a couple of days, and that nothing bad will happen if we just stay inside.”

_“Great, so now you’re going to miss school …”_

“Oh my god, Mom.”

The phone exchanged hands noisily on the other end of the line. “ _Clay, it’s Dad.”_

 _“_ Hi, Dad,” he deadpanned

_“I left you boys enough food for a week, let alone three days, so there is no reason whatsoever for you to leave that house. Got it?”_

“Uh-huh.”

“ _Mom and I are gonna try everything we can to get home, but in the meantime, it’s important that you boys stay inside at all times. Keep the doors locked, the windows closed, and the lights off. There’s my old bat in the basement, make sure you keep it on you. Oh and keep the steak knives handy, I just had them sharpened.”_

“Jesus, Dad,” he said incredulously. “Once this is over, we’re all gonna get arrested!”

_“I’d rather you stayed alive. Remember, the man said ‘defend yourselves at all costs’.”_

“I’m not sure giving Justin knives is a good idea under any circumstances.” Across the room, Justin made a face at him.

The phone was repossessed by Lainie. _“Your dad’s right, sweetheart. Do whatever you have to do. And look after each other. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”_

“Mom, seriously. Don’t come back until it’s safe. There’s no point, and like I said, we’ll be _fine_.”

She sighed noisily. “I need to think about it. But in the meantime, put Justin on, okay?”

Clay swapped phones with Justin, hoping that speaking to both of them would calm his parents down a little. To avoid eavesdropping, he went into the kitchen to continue checking up on everyone. Scrolling through, he found text messages from Alex, Jess, Zach, and Sheri, all confirming they were home safe. The next thing he did was message Tony.

_hey, its clay on justins phone. you ok?_

The response was pretty much immediate. _oh now he fuckn speaks. yeh im holed up with the fam and caleb. Most rushed/awkard meet the parents ever._

Clay grinned, imagining Tony and his brothers silently on the sofa, glaring stoically at the wall, while Caleb charmed his mom to pieces in the kitchen. _srry for not replying last night. justin took off and I had to go get him._

_WHAT DID I FUCKING SAY??_

He winced. _srry. both home now, not emerging from basement til schools over._

 _do me a favr and punch J in the face for me_ , Tony replied. _and don’t stay in the basement. no escape if u get cornered. stay upstairs and stick ur bike under the window in case u need to leave quick._

Clay blinked. _roger that. be safe T._

 _yeah you too dumbass_.

He pocketed the phone and glanced up, only to find Hannah sitting on the bench, exactly like Justin had earlier that morning. Just like she herself had at the Crestmont, all those months ago. “Tony is actually amazing to have around in a crisis,” she said. “Best ally for the apocalypse, or what?”

“Still not an apocalypse,” he insisted.

“You just told your mom it was,” she said, smirking triumphantly.

“Well, I was being histrionic.” He glanced around the kitchen, taking in the clean, if cluttered décor and light, open atmosphere. It looked like the last place you’d want to bunker down and survive an undead horde. He sighed and looked back at Hannah. “Okay, I give up. If you’re gonna be here, you might as well make yourself useful. Safe house prep: what do we need?”

She smiled. “Let’s get started.”

_

When his dad finally got home, Alex was sitting stiffly on the couch, waiting for him. Fear and uncertainty had been curdling in his stomach for the past two days, turning to frustration, and then to anger. As soon as the front door slammed shut, he hauled himself to his feet and faced his dad, glaring.

“What the hell?” he demanded while his dad trudged inside. “You called every hour to check I’m alive, but didn’t bother telling me we’re now trapped in ground zero?”

His dad put his hand up. It usually guaranteed that his boys would shut up and listen, but he was too tired for the gesture to mean much, and Alex was too angry to pay attention. “Kid …”

“And I haven’t heard from Mom since yesterday morning! What, have they trapped her up there, too?”

“Alex, please.”

“I want some fucking answers!”

His dad suddenly surged forward and gripped Alex’ shoulders, startling him into silence. Then he saw the look of raw pain and hopelessness on his face, and all the anger left him in a rush. “Dad?”

The man took a deep, shuddering sigh. “Your mom … she got attacked, up at the hospital while she was on duty. It’s put her out of commission. She’s now a patient.”

Alex felt cold numbness spreading through his bones.

“She’ll be alright. They brought in more staff from other regions, and they’re taking care of her.”

Alex didn’t know how anything would ever be alright again. “I want to see her.”

“No. It’s too dangerous right now. I can’t take you anywhere near that place.”

Some of Alex’s anger returned. “That’s bullshit,” he spat. “Mom’s _dying_ and you won’t even let me see her?”

“She’s not going to die!”

“Of course she will! Everyone’s dying!” he yelled.

The hands on his shoulders tightened and shook him slightly. “Alex! I need you to calm down. We don’t have much time, and I need to pack you a bag.”

“What? Why?”

“I need to get back to work,” he said. “But I’m not leaving you here in this house by yourself. Your brother’s too far away, so is there a friend you can stay with?”

“What –” Alex turned, following his dad’ movements as he headed towards the stairs. “You want me to go for a sleepover? Are you serious?”

“Yes, I am one-hundred-percent fucking serious!” his dad barked. Then he sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Listen. Things are bad, okay? They will get better, but right now things are very bad, and I need to make sure you’re safe until we sort this shit out. Is that understood?”

Alex knew he didn’t have a choice. He swallowed the hopelessness that lay think in his throat. “Fine.”

“Good. Be ready to leave in five.”

Alex stared at his phone, watching it tremble faintly in his hand. He had maybe three options. Clay was out; his parents weren’t home, so his dad would never go for it. Jess would have him in a heartbeat, but her dad was a completely different story. He’d grudgingly accepted Alex back into his daughter’s life after the tapes came out, but Alex was wildly aware that the only thing he had going for him, as far as boyfriend material went, was that his name wasn’t Justin Foley. Asking to stay in his house for an indeterminate amount of time would be pushing it. He’d probably feed Alex to zombies first chance he got.

That left Zach. Alex’ thumb hovered over the call button, hesitating. It wasn’t that he suddenly didn’t want to go there. It would be a relief, actually, getting out of his empty, quiet house and spending time with the most reliable person in his life at the moment. With his dad run off his feet, his mom in some unknown condition up at the hospital, and the world turned on its head, Zach’s presence would be a comfort. But was it fair to Zach, being in such close quarters with him when Alex now knew that his feelings were more than platonic? Would that be creepy and unethical?

The sound of his dad’s heavy boots on the second floor jolted Alex out of his silent anxiety attach. What did it matter how confused his dick was right now? The world was going to hell in a pretty hand-basket. Before he could think too hard about it, he made the call.

Five minutes later, he was seated in the passenger seat of his dad’s police car, silently watching the streets go by. They skirted around the urban areas, sticking to the suburbs, which were unnaturally quiet and deserted for a summer weekend.

“Don’t go outside,” his dad was telling him. “And don’t go driving around. They’ll chase after cars and dog-pile on them.”

Alex said nothing. There was a faint ringing in his ears, and he felt more paralysed than ever. When he was little, he used to lie awake in bed at night, wondering if his dad was going to be shot by the bad guys on night shift. That fear never really left him, it just got buried under the weight of his own bullshit teenage problems. Right now, it was back in full force.

“They don’t come out as much during the day, but that doesn’t mean it’s gonna be safe. Hey, are you listening to me?”

Worry made his dad angry. He and Alex had that in common. But right now, Alex could only nod.

His dad sighed and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. “I’m sorry, kid. This will all be over soon, I promise you that. I’ll make sure of it.”

Part of him wanted to cry, because it wasn’t fair that his dad had to work himself into the ground to try and fix this, and it wasn’t fair that his mom had already just about killed herself doing _her_ job, and it wasn’t fair that Alex was too weak to do a damn thing at all, even stay in their own home and wait for them to come back. He wanted to say all that so badly, but keeping it together was the absolute bare minimum he could do for his dad right now. So he gave him a tight smile, and lied to him. “I know you will.”

When they arrived at their destination, Zach immediately came outside, but he hung back for a moment, letting Alex’ dad help him out of the car. The two of them exchanged a hug, and Alex pretended not to notice his dad was trembling almost as much him.

“You boys stay safe, alright? And stay out of trouble.”

“Yes sir,” Zach said with an easy smile, coming forward to grab Alex’ bag and sling an arm roughly around his shoulders. “We’ll just be chilling here while you’re off saving the world.”

“Well, we’ll see about that. I think the feds’ll want all the credit.” He fixed Alex with a look. He didn’t say the words _love you, son_ , but Alex read it in the lines of his face and regretful eyes. “Be seeing you soon.”

“Yes, sir,” Alex said. He watched as his dad drove off, feeling pieces of himself break off and drift away with him. If it weren’t for Zach’s arm around his shoulders, warm and heavy and real, Alex thought he might have faded away completely, like a ghost who didn’t belong in this world anymore. Zach pulled him in close, giving him a precious few seconds to collect himself.

“Come on,” he said eventually, gently pulling him back towards the house. “Mom’s ecstatic you’re here. You can help me put new locks on the doors, ‘cause I’m apparently doing a real shit job of it.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica gets an unexpected call, and witnesses something strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooooo boy this was SO HARD to write. I've officially reached that point where my motivation has nosedived, and now I'm running on sheer discipline to get through. This chapter may see a little rushed, sorry about that. Please let me know what you guys think.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for the comments and readers who motivate me <3

It was almost forty-eight hours into her house arrest, and Jessica was well and truly stir-crazy. Once upon a time, it would have been nothing for her to spend the weekend slobbing around in her bedroom or on the sofa. But now she was just so used to getting out of the house and being active for at _least_ two hours every day of the week, and not being able to love was driving her insane.

Thus, Sunday afternoon came around and Jess found herself doing sit-ups in her bedroom, the same song playing on repeat through her headphones. She was starting to hate the sight of her own pink walls. Stupid pink. Stupid bedroom. Stupid town full of drugged-up murderers. Stupid Alex for being a little bit in love with someone who wasn’t her, and stupid Jess for being more insecure about it than she wanted to admit.

A faint _thump_ could be heard over the sound of her music. Jessica froze halfway up and ripped her earphones out, listening intently. But it was just her dad down the hallway, probably checking his gun safe for the fifth time. No one was trying to break in.

Jess exhaled noisily and flopped down on the carpet. Okay, so she was a little on edge. She felt pretty justified about that, there was a lot of shit going on. So why did her brain keep fixating on Alex’ confession? It wasn’t _about_ her. Yet somehow, she couldn’t help but look back over every moment of intimacy they’d had in the past few months, analysing any signs that things weren’t right. Honestly, she didn’t have to look that hard. The first time they’d had sex was a fucking disaster. Between their shared limitations (his physical, hers’ mental), they hadn’t accomplished much more than some strained muscles and a great big pile of awkward. But it hadn’t stopped them. Somehow, they’d laughed about it the next day, and the next time they tried it was a little better. The third time? Actually kind of great.

Except now, all her stupid insecurities were flooding back, swamping over the good feelings. She felt like a stupid little girl who didn’t make the _Hot or Not_ list, but at the same time, she felt so old and damaged.

She and Alex had had so many false starts. Maybe they were just forcing this thing between them because it was the safest option. But if that was the case, why did it feel so natural?

Jessica shook her head and resumed her sit-ups with renewed vigour. Once this was all over, and she could talk about it with all her peripheral fears warping the conversation, they’d work it out. Until then, all she could really do was sit here and stew in her own restless anxiety. There was the option of going downstairs and watching Netflix with her parents, but they’d probably insist that she sleep on the floor of their bedroom that night (for their peace of mind more than hers), so Jess was taking the opportunity for alone time while she still had it.

Her phone buzzed. Jess paused again and looked at the message. Seeing that it was from Alex, she switched her music off to look at it properly.

_u ok?_ He asked

Jess rolled her eyes. He’d been making up excuses to message her on and off for the past couple of days, just to make sure she replied. _still alive, still contained. hbu?_

It took a few moments for him to text back. _mum got attacked at the hospital._

The bottom dropped out of Jessica’s stomach. She sat heavily on the bed, staring at her phone, wondering what the fuck to say. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the call button.

It rang out. She blinked at it, confused. Then Alex messaged her again. _srry cant talk. helping zach w sth._

Jess frowned at the phone, wondering why Zach was there.

_dad says mums not dead yet,_ he then clarified. _but idk. i can’t go see her coz the hospitals ground zero or sum bullshit._

_I'm sure she'll b ok_ Jess told him, even though the words felt hollow. _is zach with u?_

_ye dad insisted i had a babysitter. im at zachs for the next few days._

Jess was honestly surprised by the spike of jealousy that shot through her. It made her feel dirty and ugly. _Y zach??_ she asked before she could stop herself.

Alex’ reply was immediate. _thought ur dad would kill me. i know hes protective at the best of times._

It made sense. What was Alex supposed to do, sleep in her parents’ bedroom with her? It would have been stupid. She was being stupid. Alex was telling her his mom might be dead, and she was getting jealous of his best friend for being there for him. Christ, she was a petty bitch sometimes. And yet …

_nothings gonna happen, u know that right??_

Jess took a deep breath before replying. _of course. both of u stay safe. ill be here if u wanna talk xxx_

_Thanks jess. love u x_

Jess tossed her phone aside and flopped back down on the bed. More than anything, she wished she could be there with him right now. If it was her mom’s life on the line, she’d want him there supporting her. It wasn’t fair.

Jess tried working out some more, but all she did was strain a muscle in her side from sitting up too aggressively. She gave up after that and had a scalding hot shower, before heading downstairs in search of food.

“You ok, sweetheart?” her mom called from the lounge. 24 hour footage of the crisis was playing on the television, and Jess was already sick of hearing about it.

“Yeah,” she replied.

Her mom’s face appeared in the doorway, concerned. “Are you sure?”

Jess really couldn’t hide anything from them these days. Even the tiniest hint of stress or anxiety was treated like a national disaster. She sighed. “It’s just Alex’ mom. Something’s happened to her at the hospital and he’s worried.”

“Oh, that’s awful. Is he ok?”

“He’s at Zach’s place. Zach will look after him.” It was true, even if the words felt slightly bitter in her throat.

While enduring a hug from her mother, Jess realised her phone was buzzing from an incoming call. Thinking it might be Alex, Jess disentangled herself and went to answer it. But the name on the screen was so unexpected that all she could do was stare at it for a couple of seconds.

_Chloe Rice_. What the hell?

“Who is it?” her mom said. “Alex?”

“Uh, no. Just a friend. Give me a sec.” Jess left the kitchen and swiped to accept the call. “Hello?”

There was a tiny hitch of breath on the other end of the line. _“Jessica?”_

“Uh, yeah. It’s me.”

_“Okay, good. Um, hello. How are you?”_

Jess scrunched her face up in confusion. There was something very forcibly calm about her tone of voice, with an undercurrent of urgency that set Jessica’s teeth on edge. It sounded like she was speaking at a state dinner with a gun pointed at her head. “I’m fine,” she said cautiously. “How are you? Is everything okay?”

Wow, Jessica was so sick of that question. Chloe made a strange noise, almost like a short laugh. _“I’m not so hot, actually. In fact, I … I’m freaking out completely.”_

“Why, what’s going on?” _Why are you calling_ me _about it_? Jess thought.

Chloe took a deep, staticky breath. “ _You’re going to think I’m so stupid, but. Look. Bryce and I, we had a fight.”_

“A fight?”

_“Yeah. A bad one. His parents are out of town and it’s just been the two of us on lockdown in the house, and so we were both a little stressed out …”_ She broke off, leaving Jess to wait a couple of seconds. _“Anyway, the short story was I can’t stay there tonight, and my parents aren’t answering the phone, and I’m so sorry but can I please come to your place?”_

Jessica blinked, beyond shocked at the request. “You wanna stay with _me_?”

Chloe made a gulping noise into the phone. Jessica realised, abruptly, that she must be crying. _“I don’t have anyone else.”_

Oh shit. Shit, shit, _shit_. Jess ran a hand through her hair, trying to figure out what the hell to do. “Where are you right now?” she asked. “At Bryce’s place?”

_“No, I’m a few blocks away. I tried to catch a bus but they don’t seem to be operating.”_

“Well no, the city’s kind of in lock-down. Are you seriously on the streets by yourself right now? With everything that’s going on?” she demanded.

“ _I know, I’m stupid_!” Chloe wailed, her composure finally breaking. _“I panicked, okay? I couldn’t stay there a minute longer, not after he …”_ she broke off, leaving Jess to imagine all kind of gruesome possibilities. _“Well, after he got angry. I just ran.”_

“Did he try and come after you?” Jess asked.

“ _No.”_

Ordinarily, that would have been a good thing. But there were literally zombies out on the streets, and Bryce had just driven his pregnant girlfriend out of the safest home in town. It was such a scumbag thing to do that Jess wasn’t even surprised. “Okay, um. Is there anyone else around?”

“ _No, it’s dead quiet. I knocked on a couple of doors, but no one answered.”_

God, people were such _assholes_. What, like the zombies were gonna knock on the front door? Jess pressed a hand to her forehead and tried to think. “Okay. Look, I need to talk to my parents. Can I call you back in a minute?”

“ _Please don’t hang up!”_

“It’s okay! I promise, just one minute, and I’ll call you back. Okay?”

She sniffed wetly. “ _Okay.”_

Jess felt bad for even hanging up, but she didn’t want her to have to hear the ensuing argument with her dad. Sure enough, he had emerged from his own room and was waiting patiently on the stairs, his arms folded. As calmly as she could, Jess explained the situation to him.

“No,” he said immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“Dad! She’s pregnant!”

“And it’s awful, but you’re _my_ girl, and we can’t risk leaving the house right now.”

“There’s no risk!” Jess insisted. “It’s a ten minute drive away, in the richest neighbourhood in town. There have been _no_ sightings of crazy people north of the main strip. I’ve been keeping track on Facebook, see?”

“Sweetheart, that does not translate to ‘no risk’.”

“Dad,” she implored, feeling helpless tears prick at the corner of her eyes. “She’s got no one. Okay? Forget the pregnant thing, okay, she’s still just a girl. Like me! She’s a person and I don’t want her to be left like that when I know we could have done something.”

He closed his eyes, looking pained. “Jessica …”

“I know we have to protect our own, I get that, but Dad – ignoring other people’s problems is why the world is such a shitty place! It’s why we just keep dying!”

He was quiet for a minute, solemnly taking in what she was saying, but with an immovable frown on his face.

“She’s right,” her mom said, coming up to stand behind her. “You know she is.”

He finally put his hands up in surrender. “Fine. _Fine_. But she better stay put, ‘cause I’m not driving around for hours.”

Jessica flung her arms around his waist. “Thank you.”

He hugged her back, one hand firmly cradling the back of her head. After a moment, he turned to go upstairs. “Call your friend back. Tell her we’re on our way.”

Jess hadn’t expected that her dad would let her come, too. She’d had an argument ready, her main point being that Chloe might be upset and her dad would not want to deal with that all by himself, but it hadn’t been necessary. He’d just told her to get her jacket and then, while her mom wasn’t looking, handed her a gun.

“If I could keep you locked in a box for the next few weeks and expect that you’d stay safe, I would,” he told her once they were in the car. “But the truth is, we should be ready to move at a moment’s notice. If that happens, I need to trust that you will stay calm, do exactly as I say, and be sensible.”

Jessica blinked, looking at the gun in her hand. It felt familiar enough. She’d fantasised about using it once or twice, but had never imagined a reality where she might actually have to. “Uh.”

“Hey, listen. This is a trial run, okay? And I’m trusting you. Is that understood?”

She nodded and tucked the gun into her bomber pocket. “You know if a cop pulls us over, we’re screwed, right?”

He nodded grimly. “Let’s assume they’re all busy this afternoon.”

They fell silent after that, driving slowly through the neat, tree-lined streets. It was unsettlingly quiet, though the occasional police siren could be heard in the distance. Using Jessica’s social media feed, they avoided the areas where blockades had been set up, mostly close to the main roads and highways to stop people from moving around too much or trying to get out of town.

As they got close, Jessica recognised the street where Bryce lived, and became uncomfortable for entirely different reasons. She took a deep breath and focussed on the here and now – her dad’s presence, the smell of the family care, and the weight of the gun in her pocket.

“All good?” her dad said quietly.

Jess exhaled. “Yeah.” _Be calm. Be sensible_. She couldn’t afford to get panicky. The apocalypse wasn’t going to take a break for her to have a meltdown.

The car slowed to a crawl as they entered the street where Chloe had promised to sit and wait. Jess slouched down in her seat, again hoping that the cops were too busy to respond to racist rich people wondering why two black people were driving slowly past their property.

Her anxiety rose as they continued, and Chloe was nowhere to be seen. Maybe Bryce found her before they did. Maybe she wandered off to a bad area and got eaten. Maybe Jess was an idiot for making her dad leave the house and put himself in danger just to help out a sort-of-friendly-acquaintance.

They approached a bus stop at the end of the street. Jess saw a flash of blonde hair, and her heart leaped. “There! There she is.”

Chloe was sitting patiently as they pulled up, looking for all the world like she was waiting for the bus to take her to LA. Her hands were curved lightly around her middle, even though she was barely starting to show. She looked mostly unhurt, but there were some dark bruises on her forearms that definitely didn’t come from cheerleading. She had a single gym bag with her, with the zip broken and a pink sweater sleeve dangling out of it. At least she had something – Jessica didn’t think most of her clothes would fit her. As soon as she caught sight of Jessica’s face in the window, she stood up.

Jessica’s dad nudged her. “Tell her this is the midnight train, going anywhere.”

“Dad, _no._ You don’t get to be embarrassing just ‘cause the world’s gone to shit,” Jess hissed, though honestly, she was glad to see a tiny glimpse of humour from him. Rolling down the window, she gave Chloe what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Hey.”

To her horror, Chloe’s calm façade broke in half, and she started crying.

“Oh, shit.” Jess fumbled to open her door.

“Wait,” her dad commanded, all traces of humour gone. Jess froze, half hanging awkwardly out of the car. He leaned around her to address Chloe. “Sweetheart, I need you to get in the car. Quickly, now.”

Chloe nodded, wiping her eyes, and approached the rear passenger door. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just super hormonal right now, and you guys actually _came_ , and I …”

“Stop moving.”

She stopped, her eyes wide. Jessica looked at her dad, confused and annoyed, until she realised that his eyes were fixed straight ahead, at someone watching them from the sidewalk. Her breath caught in her throat. From a distance of twenty metres or so, the man looked totally normal. He was young, maybe college-aged, dressed in a pair of shorts and a polo shirt. No shoes, though. And his face was completely blank. Of course, she thought grimly to herself. This was never going to be easy.

He made no move to approach them, but Jessica felt like she was being hunted. She was hyperaware of her foot on the pavement, the shape of the gun in her pocket, and Chloe still hovering on the sidewalk, completely vulnerable.

“Okay,” her dad said, slowly and quietly. In her peripheral vision, Jess saw that he was holding his own gun, loosely pointed at the ground. “When I say so, I want you to jump in the car and close the door as quickly as possible. Can you do that?”

Chloe made a tiny noise of agreement. Aware of her own door hanging open, Jess gripped the door handle tightly and prepared to slam it shut.

“Okay, _now_.”

Jess waited until Chloe had thrown herself into the backseat before pulling her own door shut. She squeezed her eyes closed at the noise, expecting chaos and yelling and tyres squealing as they drove off in a haphazard panic. But none of those things happened. When she opened her eyes, they were still parked on the side of the road and the man was still there, watching them.

“What the hell?” she muttered. “Is he crazy or not?”

“I think I know him. He lives a couple of blocks away,” Chloe said.

Jess’ dad shushed them. A tense minute passed before the man moved. But rather than run towards them, he merely ambled across the street, swaying faintly from side to side. Maybe he was just a regular junkie, after all. Jess exhaled slowly, some of her tension fading away. Still, she kept her eyes on him as he walked away.

Her dad waited until the man was a good twenty metres away and not looking back, before slowly pulling the car out onto the road. “Okay,” he breathed. “Alrighty then. All good.”

They’d almost made it out of the street, when suddenly, police sirens started wailing. The brakes slammed down, and her dad swore under his breath as a trio of police cars came peeling around the corner. They took no notice of the three of them, however; their target was the man down the road.

Jess twisted around in her seat, watching with horrified fascination as the man was surrounded by cops. _That_ set him off. He lashed out with his fists and nails, getting in whatever hits he could as they closed in on him. His mouth stretched open as he shrieked like an animal. The batons barely slowed him down. Finally, after being tasered twice, he was brought to a standstill, allowing the cops to tackle him to the pavement. At that point, Jess lost sight of what happened; however, she assumed he was injected with something, because the next time she got a clear look at him, he was lying on the ground, convulsing.

They continued to watch as another vehicle arrived – some kind of ambulance, she assumed, except it was totally white. People leaped out and began binding the man to a stretcher. He was still shaking faintly as he was loaded into the van.

“ _No!”_ Someone cried. A man came running across the road, heading towards the van. He was middle-aged, dishevelled and wild-looking in spite of his neat vest and beige slacks. _“My son!”_

He was stopped by a couple of cops before he could get to the van, watching helplessly as the doors were closed. He started babbling uncontrollably. From the slight distance, it was hard to catch what he was saying, but Jess caught snatches of it. “He’s not dangerous, he’s my son! _M_ _y boy!_ He must have escaped, I thought it was locked, but he … he needs help, please! _Please_ don’t hurt my son!”

She was so caught up in the awful scene that she barely noticed one of the cops approaching their car. Then the woman appeared before them, and her dad went tense, a mask of total politeness falling over his face. He rolled down the window for her.

“You ok, sir?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “We were just heading home. Didn’t mean to get caught up in anything.”

Her eyes slid down, to where his gun was fully visible. Jess felt nauseous. She held her breath as the moment dragged on. Eventually, the cop nodded. “Go on home. Don’t leave the house for the next few days if you can help it; this sort of thing might happen often.”

“Understood.”

The relief in the car was palpable as she turned away. And yet, Jess couldn’t help herself. “What’s gonna happen to him?” she asked. “That guy who just got taken?”

The cop closed her eyes for a moment. She looked completely exhausted. “I don’t know.”

The three of them were left alone after that. Jessica’s heart was still thumping wildly as they finally left. They drove home in silence, each contemplating how close they’d come to two very different kinds of bad endings. Seeing a zombie in a neighbourhood like that, so safe and normal-looking, had been surreal. It reminded her that no one and nowhere was safe. She also found herself wondering about the dad, keeping his zombie-son locked up like a rabid dog. Jess wondered what she would do, if it were someone she loved. Her mind shied away from a solid answer, unable to contemplate the sheer horror of having to either kill them, lock them up, or turn them in.

At some point, her dad’s hand reached over and found hers, squeezing gently. Jess squeezed back, glad beyond words for his presence.

Every so often, Jess glanced in the rear-view mirror and tried to smile at their new, unexpected houseguest. It was of little use. Chloe stared straight ahead with tears streaming down her face the whole way home.

_

Evening fell once again, and the house was dark. Clay and Justin had erred on the side of paranoia, and decided not the put any of the lights on. Aside from that, the house was as secure as it could ever possibly be – the doors were all locked and bolted, the windows were shuttered, and several pieces of heavy furniture had been placed close to the ground-floor entrances. The basement/garage had been cleared out to the extent that they could get inside without impaling themselves on anything sharp; Tony had advised not to get stuck in there but it couldn’t hurt to have an extra hiding space, just in case. Anything that could be conceivably used as a weapon was in Clay’s room. And Clay’s old bike had been place strategically underneath his window, half hidden by the bushes.

“Some getaway vehicle,” Justin had grumbled.

“It’s an option,” Clay had said, defending Tony’s wisdom. “We like having options.”

“Whatever. If it comes to that, I’m not riding on the handlebars.”

So really, they were about as secure as they were going to get for a zombie apocalypse. Hannah stood at the centre of everything, nodding in approval.

“Not bad, Helmet,” she said. “You might get to live after all.”

“Yay me,” Clay said, lying across the couch with one arm draped across his face after yet another intense conversation with his mom. His parents had been calling every hour or so, and he was about ready to jam his phone in the garbage disposal.

“What?” Justin asked, bounding into the living room.

Clay ignored the question. “Nice of you to take off when the phone rang again,” he said.

Justin shrugged innocently. “I thought we were tag-teaming it. Are they gonna call back?”

“No, I told them we were going to bed.”

“At _seven thirty?"_

“Its been a long day. They’re holed up in some motel halfway between here and Sacramento, they could use the sleep as well.” He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “I’m honestly beat.”

“I’m kind of wired. Can I read some of your comic books while you’re asleep? I’ll use my phone to see.”

“If you want.” Clay shot him a weird look. “You’re kind of … taking this whole thing really well.”

“What?”

Clay waved his arms around. “You know, _this_. Zombies, disaster stuff, whatever.”

Justin shrugged again. fiddling with his phone. “I don’t know, man. Like, I get that things are crazy, but I don’t feel any different than usual?”

“You always feel like the world’s ending?” Clay said, leading the way back upstairs.

Justin was quiet for a moment. “Well, yeah. I guess I do.” At Clay’s alarmed look, he hurried to say, “Not ending for real, I mean, I’m not delusional. But preparing for the worst-case scenario every second of every day? Yeah, I’m a little familiar with that.”

“Oh.” Clay didn’t know what to say to that. He tried to imagine going through the motions of his daily life – breakfast, school, homework, friend-stuff, family-stuff – while feeling sick and light-headed from anxiety at all times. He’d felt like that before of course, after Hannah died and while her trial was going on. He felt like that right now, with her watching him from the corner of every room. But he couldn’t imagine dealing with that every single day of his life, to the point where it became normal. Yet again, he was reminded that Justin’s word was completely different from his world “I’m sorry, I didn’t … realise you felt that way.”

To his surprise, Justin laughed. “It’s not a big deal, man. It’s just me, you know?”

“I guess.” He stood by, letting Justin overtake him on the stairs on the way to his room. “Do you worry about what’ll happen? With all those people out on the streets?”

Justin went into his room and flopped down on the couch. “The world’s already full of shitty, dangerous people, Clay. It’s full of people like Seth. Is zombie-Seth any worse than regular-Seth? To me, it’s basically the same.”

Clay shook his head. “Things _are_ different.”

“Well, yeah. That’s why you’re sleeping with a baseball bat.”

Clay tucked the thing a little further under his bed, out of sight but still within reach. “Wake me if anything happens, okay?”

“Okay.”

They lapsed into silence, Justin settling down with a comic book and Clay rolling over to stare at the wall. He was mildly startled to find Hannah staring back at him, her dark hair spread across his pillow. The sight of it made his heart ache. To his relief, she didn’t say anything, just smiled and shut her eyes. After two stressful days and a poor night’s sleep, Clay found himself drifting off in almost no time at all.

“It’ll be okay,” Justin’s voice said, just as Clay was on the cusp of actual sleep. His fingers flicked thought the pages of his comic, the sound soothing in its familiarity. “We’ll get through this. I promise.”

But the last thing Clay heard was Hannah’s whisper. “Things will get worse before they get better.”


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. This is barely a chapter, more of an interlude, but I needed to break the ice somehow. Thank you so much for your understanding and patience <3

One day turned into two, which turned into three, and still, the news was unchanging. Over TV and on social media, the message was the same: stay inside, stay safe, don’t engage with ‘the afflicted’. And yet, it remained dead quiet outside the Jensen home. There was the occasional police siren in the near distance, or a gunshot, or cars speeding by the house, and Clay was pretty sure half their neighbours had left … to where, he had no clue. But it all seemed so removed. For all the terror and distress, it was like this whole thing was happening in some adjacent reality to the one Clay was living.

Like most terrible things in the world, zombies became the new normal. New posts began to pop up on Facebook, about businesses opening their doors again and people catching up in public areas. There were safety warnings and tips on how to either run or fight, and a few of them talked about how to kill. The Afflicted were still basically human, so a bullet to the head would do just fine. You could also beat them to death, assuming they didn’t kill you first. Clay read each post religiously, even as his stomach churned. If it came to it, sure, he’d kill one. If it was going after his family, he’d do what he had to. But the cavalier confidence that people were starting to demonstrate made him uneasy. They were still working on a cure, which meant every death could be another life saved if they just shut up and waited a few fucking days.

“Maybe there is no cure,” Hannah suggested. “Maybe this is just our lives now.”

He didn’t have the strength to argue with her. She was everywhere these days – on his bed when he woke up every morning, hanging around the kitchen while he cooked, and making contrary remarks to every single fucking thing he said. It was nothing like last time, but then, the world wasn’t ending last time. As shit as it was, life had gone on, Jeff-less and Hannah-less and justice-for-Bryce-less. Now, there was no telling what might happen.

Justin was coping pretty well with the whole ‘stay inside’ business. Sure, he was antsy, restless, and even more annoying than usual (arguing with breakfast options out of sheer boredom, for instance), but he was more or less okay with the new normal.

Clay was different. He ached to go outside, even just to ride around the block and be alone with his thoughts in the warm evening air. He couldn’t, of course. It would be a stupid risk. His parents would kill him, if they ever made it home again. And Justin would probably have a volcanic meltdown, then kill him again for good measure.

“We do need food,” Hannah pointed out, looking over his shoulder as he gazed into the barren depths of the fridge.

“We can ration for a few more days,” Clay said.

“And then what?”

He slammed the door shut, unable to provide an answer.

_

Living with Mrs Dempsey was … an experience. She had this ability to carry on with her life as though nothing was different, cooking them all an amazing breakfast, conducting her real estate business from home with a chirpy voice and brisk touch-typing, and scolding her kids (but not Alex) whenever they swore. Alex found this both very impressive and highly disturbing.

_Maybe faking her way through a zombie crisis was nothing compared to faking her way through the death of her husband._ That was the uncharitable part of Alex’ brain, which seemed to have a life of its own these days. He tried not to think too much, so his thoughts felt externalised, like they were coming from an evil mirror reflection of himself that wouldn’t shut the fuck up. The longer he went without word from his dad, the louder it got.

Zach was a godsend. He put up with all of Alex’ shitty moods as well as he always did, and still gave him comfort in the rare moments where he was weak and had to have a tiny breakdown.

Everything changed when Zach’s little sister got sick.

It started off with a cold. She coughed and sniffled so quietly, like she was afraid the zombies might hear her. Her mother bundled her up and gave her every remedy in the house, which she bore with stoic resignation. He and Zach sniggered at how dramatic Mrs Dempsey was over something as tiny as a cold, whereas the literal apocalypse didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest.

But she didn’t get better. Her cough turned loud and harsh, and she told them that everything just hurt constantly. She couldn’t do anything but lie in bed and stare blankly at the wall.

“Pneumonia,” her mom said curtly, after a few days. She was white-faced and tight-lipped, sitting on the edge of May's bed.

“How?” Zach demanded. “This is California, there’s no fucking cold to catch!”

Mrs Dempsey didn’t pull him up on his language, which told Alex more about how worried she was than any tears or hysteria possibly could. That night, it was Alex’ turn to comfort Zach. They lay side by side on his bed, on top of the covers. Zach was glaring at the ceiling. They could hear May coughing through the walls.

“It’s so fucking stupid,” Zach said. “The end of the world, and my little sister gets done in by a bad cold?”

“Pneumonia is more serious than that,” Alex heard himself say.

“Not helpful, dude.” His body was trembling. Alex could feel the vibrations through the bed. Slowly, without looking at him, Alex laid his hand over the top of Zach’s. He didn’t shove him away.

“She’s gonna be okay,” he whispered. “We’ll do what we have to do.”

At that, Zach finally turned to look at him. His eyes were dark and liquid. “Yeah,” he croaked. He linked his fingers with Alex and held on like he might shake right out of his skin without something to anchor him. They didn’t sleep much that night.

_

Chloe did not snore in her sleep. In fact, she looked more like a princess in Jess’ bed than Jess herself did. Sleeping Beauty from the old fairytale, unwanted pregnancy and all. She was a perfect guest at all times, polite and quietly appreciative of their hospitality. Jess was starting to hate it; Chloe had so much repressed emotion, she could practically see it bubbling away under her skin. It couldn’t be good for the baby. But it was her best weapon, finely honed in the den of a predator, so who was Jess to try and take that away from her?

Jessica had her own weapon. It was the same gun her dad had given her when they went to get Chloe. She was tempted to sleep with it under her pillow on the floor, but she wasn’t that much of an idiot. PTSD plus occasional bad dreams plus pregnant lady in the same room was a bad recipe, and she knew it. So she kept the gun in her locked drawn, and the key to the draw hung on a leather cord around her neck.

Every night before she went to sleep on her makeshift bed, she thought about how to get the gun. _Get up, roll to the side, swing the cord off. Slide-click, open the draw. Know where Chloe is. Know where the threat is. Point before shooting. Get up, roll to the side, swing the cord off. Up, roll slide. Slide-click._ She practised the motion when Chloe was in the bathroom, until it felt like a dance. She kept her hair tied back, so the cord wouldn’t get tangled. Roll-swing. Slide-click. Point-shoot.

She slept much better these days.

_

When they were down to their last packet of noodles, Clay finally made a decision. The news and the social media said that it didn't matter what time of day one went outside, so long as one was quiet and didn't attract attention. With that in mind, he got up before dawn, left a note on their shared bedside table, and slunk downstairs. He knew each creaky floorboard and squeaky door. He could be silent in his own home when he wanted to be. With any luck, he’d be back before Justin was even awake.

Hannah’s arms wrapped around his waist as he got on the bike and sped off down the street. The cool wind felt like heaven against the side of his face. Hannah sighed happily.

“Alone at last,” she said. “I missed this.”

“Me too,” he whispered.


End file.
